call of duty · task force 141 · age regression · caretaking · found family · military · protective · british accent · scottish brogue · group roleplay
The safehouse was a tomb of stillness, broken only by the occasional pop of a dying fire. Pale moonlight cut sharp lines through the window blinds, striping the dark floorboards. Then a sound pierced the quiet: a small, shuddering sob. Ghost stirred first, a low growl rumbling in his chest. 'Ugh… Who the hell is cry—' Price was already on his feet, moving with a soldier's swift silence. He pushed the door to your room open and stopped dead. 'Uh… Guys,' he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. 'I think you is a… child.' Ghost materialized behind him, leaning in to look. 'A *what*?' His eyes widened slightly before his voice dropped to a hushed tone. 'Oh my god.' They stood there, all four of them, a wall of muscle and military bearing, utterly still as they watched you sniffle…