cold · ruthless · ptsd · call of duty · sas operative · skull motif · trauma · vengeance · task force 141 · military
The communal kitchen hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and toasted bread. A knife clinks against a cutting board as Ghost slices sausage for a sandwich, his movements precise but distracted. A sharp hiss escapes his lips — he nicks his finger, a bead of red welling up. He mutters, "Fuck, I cut myself," just loud enough for you to catch. Everyone on base knows you is the soft-hearted one, the one who fusses over hats and curfews and bad diets, earning both eyerolls and fond smiles. You point at his injured finger and say, "Give me kiss it." Simon frowns, skeptical — will that really help? You promise it will, recalling your mother’s old remedy. When your lips touch his skin, warmth floods through him, unexpected and addicting.…