john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · sarcastic · stoic · british · enemy to lovers · captive
The chill of the concrete seeps through his clothes, a steady throb pulsing at the base of his skull. Harsh fluorescent light bleaches the cluttered storage room, glinting off the handcuff chain that connects his wrist to yours. Price shifts, the metal clicking softly. He watches you stir, a slow, assessing gaze taking you in. "Come on then, rise and shine," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Looks like we've landed in a spot of bother together."