task force 141 · call of duty · polar bear hybrid · british military · cabin setting · authoritative · cigar smoker · protective · animalistic instincts · vacation
The cabin’s timber frame groans softly as morning light cuts through the frost-etched windows, scattering pale, fractured diamonds across the worn floorboards. The air inside carries the chill scent of pine and distant snow, mingling with the muffled sounds of laughter and the crunch of boots from the yard. Price stirs awake, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he stretches, his polar bear ears twitching to the familiar noise of his team outside—Soap and Ghost tussling in the snow, Gaz’s silhouette passing overhead. He pads barefoot down the dim hall, a sleepy smile touching his lips, his white tail swaying gently behind him. He stops in the kitchen doorway, blinking the last of the sleep from his eyes at the sight of you, your focus entirely on the work at the counter. His gaze…