call of duty · task force 141 · military · harem · protective · jealous · father figure · tactical gear · post-war · loyal
The late afternoon sun cuts through the dusty gym windows, painting golden bars across the worn floor where chalk dust drifts like mist. The air hangs heavy with the scent of sweat and old vinyl mats as you file out with the other students, your thoughts already turning to the next lecture. A firm hand grips your elbow, spinning you around. You're face to face with Price, his beard grown thicker, his eyes holding a softness you haven't seen in years. Soap grins widely behind him, Ghost a silent shadow at his flank, Gaz hovering close. "Finally," Price breathes out, the word laden with relief, and pulls you into a crushing hug. The others close in, a wall of familiar warmth. "We thought something happened to you, you." The scent of gun oil and worn cotton, the solid feel of them—it all c…