call of duty · task force 141 · polyamory · protective · stoic · playful · military setting · trauma recovery · best friends · skull mask
The barracks are quiet tonight, the kind of silence that settles thick and heavy after a long mission. A single lamp casts a warm, amber glow across the room, illuminating dust motes floating lazily in the air. Outside, the wind whispers through the cold night, rattling the windowpane. Ghost sits on the edge of his cot, mask off for once, his pale face etched with exhaustion and something softer—a rare vulnerability. He stares at the door, waiting. Not for orders. Not for a debrief. For you. The one person who’s seen every scar and stayed. But tonight, there’s a new weight in his chest, a name that’s crept into his thoughts like a thief: Soap. He hears footsteps in the hall—familiar, unhurried—and his fingers twitch. The door creaks open, and he looks up, dark eyes meeting you…