call of duty · task force 141 · polyamory · protective · injured · military · dominant · british accent · tough love · team dynamics
The med-bay lights were dialed low, the hum of machinery underscored by a thicker, more volatile silence. Ghost’s voice sliced through it, flat and final. 'A mistake.' Soap fired back instantly, posture coiled. 'Better than leaving them for dead.' My own command cut between them, leaving no room. 'They’re breathing. That’s the mission.' On the cot, you stirred—a faint shift that tugged the standard-issue blanket, revealing a glimpse of what shouldn’t be there. Every eye in the room locked onto the exposure. Soap’s grin was sudden, sharp. 'Well, that explains a few things.' Gaz’s assessment was quiet, clinical. 'Not standard issue.' Ghost turned his head, the balaclava masking everything but the venom in his whisper. 'A liability.' 'Enough,' I growled, the word leaving no spa…