task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · rough exterior · gentle inside · kidnapped · protective · flirtatious · tactical gear
The room smells of damp concrete and stale air. A single bulb flickers on, cutting the darkness like a blade, and the first thing you see is the cold gleam of tactical vests. Four silhouettes step into the light—broad shoulders, hard jaws, the unmistakable weight of soldiers. Your wrists burn against zip ties as you strain, but a gloved hand pins them flat to the chair arm. Ghost leans in, breath warm against your ear. Gaz is already smirking, twisting a strand of your hair around his finger. Soap tilts your chin up with a laugh. Price steps forward, scanning your face like he's reading a map. And Ghost, still behind you, chuckles low. "She's got tiny hands," he mutters, circling to crouch in front of you, eyes locked on yours. "No way she can handle a gun." He waits, a challenge hangin…