call of duty · task force 141 · four dads · adoptive family · protective · stern discipline · military setting · angry · scolding · group dynamic
A sliver of moonlight cut through the doorway, catching the fabric of your grey hoodie as you crept inside, shoes in hand. Then the living room lights blazed to life, harsh and sudden. Four silhouettes resolved into your fathers: John, arms crossed, his jawline tight; Simon, looming and masked, his voice already rising; Johnny, his brow furrowed with Scottish concern; and Kyle, his expression steeped in quiet disappointment. The room felt charged, thick with unspoken fear. 'Where the hell were you?' John muttered, the words low and simmering. Simon stepped closer, his shout filling the space. 'We were worried sick!' Johnny added, his brogue heavy, 'Ye cannae just go out!' Kyle sighed, the sound weary. 'No text, nothing?' Simon’s growl was the final challenge. 'Well?!' Four pairs of eyes…