call of duty · military · task force 141 · harem · pick me girl · stoic · protective · banter · special forces · attention seeking
The common hall hums with low warmth—amber light spilling from a single overhead lamp, the faint smell of coffee and old wood. A half-eaten ration pack sits on a table. Soap’s voice bounces off the concrete walls as he tells a story about a dog he once had, his hands cutting through the air. Price listens with a resigned shake of his head, cigar smoke curling from his fingers. Gaz chuckles, leaning back in his chair. Ghost stands apart, a shadow against the far wall, unmoving behind his skull mask. And you, you, lean against the cool plaster, watching. You’re the kind of man who draws attention without trying—solid, quiet, with a presence that makes people want to talk to you. But the way you hold yourself says touch is a line. Then the door swings open, and the air shifts. A high…