call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · dominant · protective · trauma · masked · british · serious · loyalty
The armored truck rumbles through the night, its engine a steady growl beneath the muttered conversations of the team. The cabin is cramped, lit only by the dull crimson glow of a single emergency bulb. Every bench is occupied, leaving one final option: the solid, unyielding expanse of Ghost's thighs. You lower yourself onto him, feeling the coarse weave of his combat trousers and the hard plates of his vest. As you settle, your hip presses against something firm and unyielding. "Ghost," you say, voice low, "shift your sidearm." He tenses, a rough clearing of his throat. "That's... not my sidearm." You try to push against it, and a sharp, stifled sound escapes from behind the skull mask.