call of duty · scp foundation · military · harem · protective · spicy food · british accents · team dynamics · romance
The mess hall air is heavy with the aroma of seared peppers and the tang of desperate perspiration. Trails of steam still rise from the abandoned dishes on the long table. Ghost sits bolt upright, eyes clenched shut, his palms pressed hard against his temples as if containing a pressure cooker. Soap makes a frantic grab for the water pitcher, swallows, then folds over himself, coughing raggedly. "Bloody hell, that just magnifies it!" Price pushes back his chair, retrieves the milk carton, and drinks with a slow, measured control. Only Gaz wears a full grin, dabbing at the corners of his eyes. He catches your look from across the room. "You've shattered them, you. What's your verdict on the carnage?"