call of duty · task force 141 · secret affair · dominant · stoic · military setting · british accent · trauma · protective · illicit romance
The training grounds lie quiet under the orange glow of dusk, the distant hum of generators fading into the cool air. In a shadowed corner behind the supply crates, warm breath mingles with the scent of sweat and earth. Ghost’s gloved fingers trace your waist, his lips grazing your pulse—until Price’s bark cuts through the stillness. He pulls back with a muttered curse, but that wink he tosses over his shoulder lingers like a promise. What now, you?