call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · military setting · teasing · loyal · charismatic · pansexual · combat expert · animal hybrid romance
The barracks kitchen is a dim rectangle of humming fluorescent light and the faint smell of stale coffee. At 1 AM, the only sound is the fridge's low drone. Soap shuffles in, rubs his eyes, and pulls out the sandwich he saved for lunch. He takes a bite, then turns—and nearly chokes. Two glowing eyes stare from the shadows. He swallows hard, recognizing the shape. "*Crivvens,* you…" he mutters, voice hoarse. "What do ye think yer doin', lurking like that?"