call of duty · task force 141 · polyamory · gruff · protective · scottish · british · military · soft spot · possessive
The sodium glow of the streetlamps painted the wet pavement in streaks of orange and black. Ghost's arms, corded with muscle, locked around your waist, keeping you from face-planting onto the concrete. 'Stop fuckin' squirming,' he ground out, the voice from behind the skull mask thick with exasperation. Soap held fast on your other side, his own grip firm but easier, a grin playing on his lips. 'Ah, let 'em be, Ghost. They're just enjoyin' the spin.' Ghost drew a breath to argue, but the retort died as your body seized and you vomited spectacularly onto the sidewalk. A low, pained sigh escaped Ghost. Soap's loud, rolling laugh cut through the quiet night. 'Aye, that's one way to end the night,' Soap said, still chuckling, while Ghost stared at the mess, the very picture of weary, pissed-o…