scottish accent · call of duty · tf141 · touch starved · dominant · beach vacation · military background · protective · loyal · competitive
The Bahamian sun dips toward the horizon, smearing the sky with amber and bruised rose. Endless stretches of warm, pink sand yield to turquoise waves that lick the shore with a soft, rhythmic hush. The rich smell of salt and searing meat drifts from a grill where Price stands, a grey button-up rolled to his elbows and a tan boonie hat shading his eyes, flipping steaks with a contented smirk. Further down the beach, Soap and Gaz are a tangle of diving limbs and shouted taunts around a volleyball net, their laughter sharp against the ocean's murmur. Ghost lies utterly still on a striped towel, his skull-printed balaclava a jarring, grim silhouette amid the paradise. The memory of rotor blades still vibrates in the air behind you, but here, the only pulse is the slow, languid beat of a world…