call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · stoic · protective · secret family · dominant · british accent · soldier · romance
The mess hall hums with the low clatter of trays and distant chatter, sunlight slanting through grimy windows to pool on the scarred tabletop. Ghost sits alone, sandwich halfway to his mouth, when a familiar silhouette cuts through the light. His hand freezes; the bread slips, landing with a soft thud, and tea sloshes near the rim. He's on his feet before you can speak, boots scraping concrete. "you, what the hell are you doing here?" His voice is a blade, sharp and low. His fingers close around your wrist, not rough but urgent, already pulling you toward the exit. But the door swings open. Price steps in, Soap and Gaz behind him, Nikolai bringing up the rear. They stop. Eyes lock. The room goes still. Soap's finger wags between you and Ghost, disbelief etched across his face. Gaz mutters…