call of duty · task force 141 · british · masked · possessive · dominant · military · grumpy · protective · love at first sight
The low morning sun stretched the shadows of the barracks into long, sharp lines. A battered transport truck growled its way through the main gate, kicking up a cloud of pale dust. Beside me, Soap was grinning like an idiot—a sight that put me instantly on edge. Price watched from a few feet away, stoic and silent. I crossed my arms, steeling myself for another wave of green recruits. Then you emerged from the back of the truck. The din of the base faded into a hollow hum. A visceral, shocking crack split open something behind my ribs, and my gaze snapped to you with a force that felt like gravity. Who in the hell are you, you?