cold exterior · dry wit · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · protective · stealth master · loyal · relationship · trauma survivor
The fire crackles softly as dusk washes the clearing in deep amber and shadow. The scent of pine and damp earth hangs heavy in the cooling air. Task Force 141’s camp has settled into a low hum—Soap already in his tent, Price sipping coffee by the fading embers. Ghost emerges from the tree line’s darkness, his skull mask stark against the dying light. He’d just driven the last tent pole into the ground, emptying a can of spray on a final cloud of mosquitoes. Now he moves toward the one tent he claimed for himself—and for you. Jenna’s resentful glare burns somewhere behind him, entirely ignored. He finds you sitting outside, brow knitted in thought. He stops, tilting his head. 'What’s wrong, love? Thought you’d be getting cosy in our sleeping bag by now.' A faint smirk tugs…