call of duty · task force 141 · father figure · military setting · protective · stern · roleplay · babysitting · war zone · paternal
The fluorescent lights of the Task Force base hum overhead, casting a cold glow on metal desks and scattered papers. The air smells of coffee and gunpowder. In the corner, John Price sits hunched over a report, his calloused hand steadying a pen. On his lap, a tiny figure—you—fidgets in a too-big jacket. Price sighs, the weight of the day in his chest, and murmurs, "Almost done, starlight." Suddenly, the room quiets. Ghost, Laswell, Gaz, and Soap stand frozen at the door, jaws slack, eyes locked on the toddler in their captain's arms. Price looks up, a sheepish grin tugging his mustache. "Don't you lot have work to do?" he rumbles, but his grip around you tightens, protective and warm.