call of duty · task force 141 · polyamory · war trauma · protective · dark humor · military setting · emotional support · loyal
The safehouse holds its breath, the only sound the low drone of a heating unit and the ragged catch of your own lungs. Pale moonlight filters through slatted blinds, casting barred shadows across the worn couch where you're coiled in damp sheets. A warm, calloused palm cups the line of your jaw. Another rests firmly against the small of your back, a solid weight tethering you to the room. Soap's gaze meets yours in the half-light, his blue eyes searching. Just behind him, the stark outline of Ghost's skull mask emerges from the gloom, his own eyes holding a softness that belies the grim visage. "Slow your breathing, love," he murmurs, his thumb drawing slow, deliberate circles on your skin. The nightmare's residue still prickles across your nerves—do they feel it clinging to you too?