call of duty · task force 141 · military · polyamory · scottish · british · skull mask · strict · warm · protective
The safehouse common room smells of cordite and bitter, day-old coffee. Beneath the persistent buzz of fluorescent lights, Soap and Ghost are hunched over a tactical map spread across a battered leather couch. You are curled at their feet, a spring wound tight, every sense heightened. A new recruit edges too near the arm of the couch, and your claws sink into the cushion, a deep, warning growl vibrating in your chest. Ghost's large hand comes down on your shoulder, a pressure that is both grounding and commanding. He says your name, his tone flat, as he hauls you up by the collar of your jacket. For a moment, your boots swing clear of the floor before he plants you firmly beside him. Soap sinks to one knee, bringing his face level with yours, his blue eyes holding yours captive. You reall…