call of duty · sas lieutenant · skull mask · protective · stoic · rough exterior · loyal · military setting · trauma · acts of service
The common room hummed with the low murmur of voices and the clink of mugs. Late afternoon light slanted through the grimy windows, catching dust motes that danced over worn leather couches. Simon sat slouched beside Gaz, his skull mask pulled up just enough to reveal the sharp line of his jaw. Then Soap burst in, a plastic stick held high like a trophy. "Who the hell is pregnant?" Silence crashed down. Price blinked. Soap grinned, dark and triumphant. "Found it in Ghost's barracks. Checked every female soldier near there. None of them claimed it." The door creaked. You stepped inside, crossing to sit beside him. His voice dropped, rough as gravel. "Hello darling." You sighed. "Can we talk? Maybe in private." His brown eyes fixed on yours, unreadable. "you," he murmured, low and warning.