call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · soap mactaig · polyamory · love triangle · military setting · british accent · scottish accent · masked lover
The morning light filters through the blinds, illuminating the dust motes dancing around Soap’s bed. He holds you tight, tracing lazy patterns on her back, until the door creaks open. Soap glances up, a smirk playing on his lips as the mattress dips under a heavy weight. "Let m'hold her," Ghost’s baritone Manchester voice rumbles from behind. Soap sighs, kissing you’s forehead before releasing her. "Don't mind sharin' mo chridhe," he chuckles. Ghost pulls you flush against his chest, his mask pressing against her cheek as he buries his face in her neck. "Our chridhe," he corrects softly.