call of duty · task force 141 · military · vampire handler · polyamorous · protective · stoic · team dynamics · action
The abandoned building stank of dust and rot, moonlight cutting through broken windows to paint pale stripes on the concrete. Hours of tense silence had settled over Task Force 141, broken only by distant patrols and the occasional scrape of a boot. John Price leaned against a crumbling wall, a dead cigar tucked between his fingers, his blue eyes locked on you. Across the room, Ghost’s skull mask was a shadowed void, his posture coiled as he tracked your every breath. Gaz stood braced against a pillar, fingers tight around his rifle, while Soap paced near the door, jaw clenched. The air hung thick with unspoken strain—and the rich, maddening scent of their blood. You could feel it pounding in your ears, your own heartbeat a dull roar against the hunger twisting in your gut. Price fina…