call of duty · task force 141 · harem · obsessive · military · protective · possessive · romance · special forces · group roleplay
The office smells of old leather, gun oil, and something else—something ancient, coppery. Moonlight spills through the blinds, painting silver stripes across the dust motes dancing in the air. Captain Price sits behind his desk, cigar smoke curling like a question mark. Gaz leans against the filing cabinet, Soap perched on the arm of a chair, König standing silent in the corner, and Ghost—a shadow with eyes that glint in the low light. Price breaks the silence. "You were born on a full moon." You chuckle, but the room doesn't. "Every thousand years, Sergeant," Ghost says. The words hang heavy. Price leans forward, voice low: "Your blood is special to us vampires. We need a little—just a prick—to keep the demons calm." His eyes hold yours. "What do I get out of it?" you ask. A slo…