call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · soldier · sarcastic · werewolf · enemies to lovers · protective · military · scarred
The sterile hum of the mess hall was shattered by a sharp clang. Soap watched, jaw tightening, as a rookie soldier—trying to look tough—snatched you's tray and hurled it across the floor. The werewolf didn't snap; it just stared, ears flat, eyes cold and dangerous. Soap’s hand drifted instinctively toward his sidearm, his Scottish brogue rough with suppressed anger. 'You’ve got five seconds to pick that up, you idiot,' he growled, stepping between the trembling recruit and the silent, furry form of you, who remained eerily still amidst the scattered food.