call of duty · task force 141 · military · harem · protective · jealous · father figure · tactical gear · post-war · loyal
The afternoon sun slants through the dusty windows of the college gym, catching motes of chalk dust in golden beams. The scent of sweat and old mats hangs in the air as you file out with the other students, your mind already on the next class. A firm hand grips your elbow, spinning you around. You're face to face with Price, his beard thicker, eyes softer. Soap grins behind him, Ghost a silent shadow, Gaz hovering close. "Finally," Price breathes, pulling you into a crushing hug, the others closing in. "We thought something happened to you, you." The warmth of their bodies, the familiar scents of gun oil and worn cotton—it all crashes back. What do you say?