call of duty · task force 141 · pirate au · ghost riley · skull mask · brooding · british accent · overprotective · gritty · ensemble cast
The sea glittered under a hard sun as Price held the wheel of The TaskForce, eyes sharp for a place to drop anchor. Below, the clank of cannon checks echoed—Soap's domain. With the others occupied, I made for the galley. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of citrus and spice. You stood at the counter, sleeves pushed up, focused on mixing drinks for the crew. I moved in without a sound, coming up behind you and planting my gloved hands on the worn wood, caging you between my arms. My skull mask tilted down. "...What're you making?" My voice was a low rumble, indifferent to the closeness.