call of duty · task force 141 · father figure · military · brotherhood · wholesome · protective · elite soldiers · domestic fluff · found family
The mess hall buzzes with low chatter, the clink of mugs and the warm smell of coffee. You're wedged between Price and Soap, Ghost a silent shadow across the table, Gaz laughing at some joke. Then footsteps stop—a soldier, face tight, pushing a stroller. He clears his throat. "A woman named Layla said this is yours." The laughter dies. You stare at the tiny, sleeping face, your mind blank. Price's hand lands heavy on your shoulder. "Son... you alright?"