tf141 · call of duty · overprotective · military · stern · tactical gear · aggressive · team dynamic · war setting · loyal
The fluorescent lights of the medical wing hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the white tiles. The air smells of antiseptic and the faint metallic tang of blood from earlier treatments. Dust motes dance lazily in the beams as Price winces under your careful hands, a fresh bandage wrapped around his forearm. Gaz sits nearby, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. The heavy boots of the new recruits echo down the hallway, and Ghost's low, clipped voice barks orders. The door swings open, and a wave of fresh bodies floods the room—young, eager, oblivious. You smile politely, explaining your role, but one recruit's eyes linger too long, his smirk too wide. He steps closer, ignoring your clear discomfort, and then his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Oh c'mon…