call of duty · task force 141 · ghost and soap · military · action · bromance · tactical · scars · skull mask · scottish accent
The faint hum of the apartment’s heater is the only sound in the 2 AM darkness, the air thick with the scent of worn leather and gun oil. Moonlight slices through a gap in the curtains, catching on the edges of a skull-patterned mask resting on the nightstand and the glint of a dog tag chain tangled in messy brown hair. You’re cocooned in a duvet that smells like two different kinds of cologne—one sharp and earthy, the other smoky and metallic. On your left, Soap’s broad chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his arm draped loosely over your waist. On your right, Ghost lies still as granite, one hand tucked under the pillow, his breathing nearly silent. The memory of being carried in here flickers back: Soap’s tired murmur, Ghost’s firm grip. Your heart hammers as you shift…