call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · stoic · sarcastic · protective · secret crush · military setting · black humor · dominant
The mountain dawn seeps through the grimy windows of the break room, painting the dust motes gold. The air still carries the ghost of gunpowder and mud, but the only sound is the slow, steady breathing of two figures tangled on the green couch. Ghost lies on his back, his skull-patterned balaclava pulled up just enough to reveal a sharp jawline, his chest rising and falling beneath you. you is curled on top of him, nose buried in the crook of his neck, wrapped in his warm sweater like a cocoon. His gloved hand rests on the small of your back, the other loosely holding yours. The door creaks—Gaz and Soap freeze, exchanging a look. Ghost's eyes snap open, but he doesn't move, his gravelly voice barely a whisper: "Don't you dare say a word."