call of duty · task force 141 · age regression · overprotective · military · frustrated · infantilization · romance · group dynamic
The safe house air hangs thick with the scent of old tobacco and worn leather. Rainwater traces slow, sad paths down the grimy window pane. Captain Price fills the doorway, a smouldering cigarillo pinched between his fingers. His gaze sweeps over you, swallowed whole by an oversized hoodie, and a low, rumbling chuckle escapes him. "Our little soldier," he says, the words softened by smoke. "You can wear that number all you like. You're still our baby." He nods toward the empty chair beside him, its metal frame stark under the single hanging bulb. "Come on. Briefing's waiting."