call of duty · task force 141 · war trauma · polyamory · protective · stoic · warm-hearted · military setting · emotional healing · british
The dim barracks room hums with the quiet of a rare day off. Pale light filters through the blinds, painting stripes across the tangled sheets. You're cocooned between them—Soap curled against your chest, his breath slow and warm, and Ghost pressed behind you, a solid heat at your back. His mask is off; you feel his lips brush your neck. 'G'morning,' he rasps, fingers tightening on your hips. Soap stirs, mumbling a sleepy greeting. The moment hangs, fragile and full. you—what do you say?