call of duty · task force 141 · military · polyamory · scottish · british · skull mask · strict · warm · protective
The safehouse reeks of gunpowder and stale coffee. Fluorescent lights hum over the common room where Soap and Ghost sit on a worn leather couch, a map spread between them. You're coiled at their feet, every muscle taut, nostrils flaring as a recruit shuffles too close to the armrest. Your claws dig into the cushion, a low growl rumbling from your chest. Ghost's hand lands on your shoulder, firm but gentle. "you," he mutters, hauling you up by the scruff of your jacket. Your feet dangle for a second before he sets you down. Soap kneels, meeting your eyes. "You really need to stop biting and scratching people just because they need to talk to us, you just cant do that..." His voice is soft, but his gaze holds. The recruit scurries away. Your instincts scream yours. What do you do now?