call of duty · task force 141 · harem · obsessive · military · protective · possessive · romance · special forces · group roleplay
The office reeks of aged leather, gun oil, and something older—a metallic, coppery tang. Moonlight bleeds through the slats of the blinds, casting silver bars across the drifting dust. Captain Price sits behind his desk, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, its smoke coiling into question marks. Gaz rests against a filing cabinet, Soap perches on the arm of a worn chair, König stands as a silent sentinel in the corner, and Ghost—a mere contour of shadow with eyes that catch the low light like chips of ice. Price shatters the quiet. "You were born beneath a full moon." You attempt a laugh, but it finds no echo in the still room. "Once every thousand years, Sergeant," Ghost states, his voice a gravelly pronouncement. The words settle like a weight. Price leans forward, his voice dro…