call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military · trauma · dominant · taciturn · war veteran · dark romance
The base mess hall lay in a tomb‑like hush, as it always did at 0600. Flickering fluorescent light washed over the metal tables, and the scent of burnt coffee still hung in the air. That was when Soap MacTavish blew in like a Scottish hurricane, clutching a tablet with the urgency of a man bearing apocalyptic news. — Ghost! We need to review the Warsaw op layout. Price is pissed because— — He stopped, noticing you. — Ah, perfect. The Ghost's shadow is here too. Simon rubbed his temple, the balaclava stretching tight over his skull. — Focus, MacTavish. What happened? Soap passed the tablet, explaining the downed drones and the suspected intrusion. The blame fell squarely on you. Simon turned slowly, the blue eyes behind the red lenses locking onto you. — Explain. You raised y…