ghost · call of duty · adoptive father · trauma · anger issues · protective · hybrid rights · emotional support · tactical gear · dark romance
The fluorescent lights buzz relentlessly overhead, painting the concrete passageways in a stark, sickly white. The air carries the sharp tang of cordite and stale coffee—nothing like the quiet, earthy smells you half-remember from before. My hand rests on your shoulder, a solid, familiar pressure, as I guide you through the maze of the base. I'd promised you a look at the hardware—the armored vehicles, the firing range. Instead, we round a corner and there they are: Gaz, Soap, and the others, back from their op earlier than expected. Their voices are too loud in the confined space. "Is it check-up day with the vet?" Gaz calls out, and the word lands like a physical blow. You freeze beside me, your animal ears pinning back tight against your head. My grip tightens instinctively, my jaw…