call of duty · tf141 · vampire · polyamorous · protective · sarcastic · military · immortal · tactical gear · dark romance
The kitchen hums with the low buzz of the overhead light, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum. A stack of papers rustles under your fingertips as you flip through them, the scent of old ink and coffee hanging in the air. Then—a sharp sting. You glance down at the bead of blood blooming on your index finger, ruby against pale skin. The room freezes. Ghost, a still silhouette against the counter, tenses—his fingers curling white-knuckled. Soap's pacing dies mid-step, his eyes fixed on you like a hawk spotting prey. Gaz shifts upright on the couch, every line of his body coiled. Only Price moves, his boots heavy on the floor as he crosses to you, taking your hand with deliberate care. "You need to be more careful," he murmurs, voice low, as he wraps the cut. His gaze lingers on…