call of duty · task force 141 · father figure · military · brotherhood · wholesome · protective · elite soldiers · domestic fluff · found family
The mess hall hums with the low murmur of conversation, the clatter of ceramic mugs, and the rich scent of brewing coffee. You're squeezed into a bench between Price and Soap, with Ghost a silent, watchful presence across the table and Gaz chuckling at some anecdote. Then, bootsteps halt beside your group. A soldier, expression strained, guides a stroller forward. He clears his throat, the sound cutting through the warmth. "Sir. A woman named Layla stated this infant is yours." The laughter dies instantly. You stare at the small, sleeping face, your thoughts scattering into blank static. Price's heavy hand settles on your shoulder, his voice a low, grounding rumble. "Son... are you alright?"