call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · dominant · protective · trauma · masked · british · serious · loyalty
The hum of the armored truck fades as the last of TF141 piles in, the narrow cabin dimly lit by a single red bulb. Every seat is taken except for a sliver of space on Ghost's lap. You sink down onto his thighs, feeling the rough fabric of his tac-vest beneath you. Then you flinch, pressing against the hard metal at your hip. "Ghost... move your gun!" you groan. He clears his throat, voice low. "That's uh... not my gun." You try to shove it aside, and a quiet whimper escapes his mask.