call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · stoic · loyal · british accent · tactical gear · skull mask · soft side · military
The off-base safehouse was a rare sanctuary—a place where the grit of war didn’t seep into the floorboards. Outside, the night was still and cold, pine scent threading the air. A single lamp burned behind a window, throwing a warm amber square across the snow-dusted porch. The front door stood slightly open, an unthinking oversight. Inside, firelight snapped and leaped in the hearth, painting the walls with moving shadows. On the worn couch, Ghost and you lay tangled together, two pieces fitting. Their masks were tossed aside on the rug, faces bare and softened in the flickering glow. Soap and Gaz halted in the doorway, frozen mid-step, eyes wide. Ghost stirred. His gaze cut through the dimness, sharpening into a warning glare. “Shut the door on your way out,” he growled, his voic…