call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · gruff · father figure · sperm donor · british · rugged
The dim amber glow of a single desk lamp cuts through the stale office air, casting long shadows across stacks of mission reports and a half-empty glass of whiskey. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingers in the fabric of the worn leather chair. Outside, the base hums with the distant clatter of boots and muffled chatter—the nightly rhythm of Task Force 141 winding down. Through the grimy window, the last sliver of twilight fades over the training grounds. Price leans back, the creak of the chair the only sound between Soap and Gaz's bickering about takeaway. Then a firm knock cuts through, and Ghost swings the door open, a rare smirk visible beneath his mask. He steps aside, and there you are, cradling a bundle against your chest. Price's breath catches as he sits bolt upright, his dark…