call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · military · dominant · gruff · loyal · trauma · depression · mlm
The dim amber glow from Ghost's quarters struggles against the haze of his laptop screen, throwing long shadows across the scuffed desk and the bunk where you're curled. The air carries the sharp scent of gun oil undercut by the faint, sweet smell of the biscuit you've got between your teeth. A soft click—he shuts the laptop. His weary brown eyes find you, his voice gravelly with fatigue. "Pack in the junk food." He reaches out, his fingers grazing toward the biscuit in your mouth. What do you do?