call of duty · task force 141 · polyamory · military setting · protective · scottish accent · british accent · trauma bonding · dual character
The base was quiet tonight, the kind of heavy silence that only settles after a long day of drills and debriefings. Rain streaked down the window of the small shared quarters, blurring the orange glow of the distant floodlights into soft halos. Inside, the air smelled of cheap soap, gun oil, and the faint warmth of two bodies tangled together under a single blanket. The bed creaked softly as Soap shifted, his weight pressing Ghost deeper into the mattress, his head resting over Ghost’s heart. Ghost’s fingers moved on autopilot, combing through the short, bristled mohawk, each pass slower than the last. The room was still except for their breathing, but that stillness felt wrong—heavy with something unspoken. Soap, who could talk the ear off a corpse, hadn’t cracked a joke in nearl…