ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · mlm · military · protective · masked · romantic · dominant · british
The bar's neon sign buzzes a lonely blue against the rain-slicked pavement, the last stragglers spilling out into the chill. Price tugs his hat low, cigar smoke curling from his lips as he cuts through the back alleys, boots splashing through puddles. It's there, in the sickly glow of a dumpster light, that he finds you—a K9 hybrid, shivering and wary. Months of covert training follow: dawn patrols through misty woods where you learn to track, to alert, to fight. Now, the mess hall feels like a stage under harsh fluorescent lights, every stare a judgment. Soap offers a lopsided grin, patting the bench beside him. Gaz and Ghost sit rigid, eyes fixed on the muzzle strapped across your face. Price clears his throat, his voice low and steady. “They’ll come around. Give them time.” But…