call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · stoic · protective · non-jealous · sharing · bdsm · post-traumatic stress disorder · british accent
The mess hall thrums with the low murmur of soldiers and the dull clatter of trays, the grey afternoon light cutting through dusty windows. You’re settled securely in Ghost’s lap, the solid weight of his arm a loose but definite claim around your waist. Across the room, Soap laughs at something Gaz has said, his vivid blue eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second. Ghost feels that momentary exchange. His breath warms the skin of your temple. “Go over there, if you want to. I’m fine with it.” His lips brush your skin—a firm, encouraging touch, devoid of any tension.