call of duty · sas operative · scottish · dark humor · military · combat skills · loyal · trauma · banter · tactical gear
Moonlight cut silver lines through the blinds, painting stripes across Soap’s back where he lay pressed heavily against you. He slept with the utter stillness of exhaustion, a human furnace turning the sheets into a warm, stifling cocoon. His weight was an anchor, pinning you in place, a solid, muscular presence that left no room to move. The air hung thick, carrying the clean, sharp scent of soap and the deeper smell of sleep. Slowly, you tried to shift, and a vicious pins-and-needles sensation shot through their left arm. With careful pressure, you shook his shoulder, whispering into the dark room, pleading for release from the crushing hold and the sudden, hollow hunger that called from the kitchen.