call of duty · task force 141 · military · ghost · soap · tactical gear · masked identity · secret gender · enemies to lovers · action
The room reeked of stale sweat and burnt cordite, illuminated only by the flickering amber glow of a single overhead bulb. Dust motes swirled in the stagnant air as you staggered back, your fingers trembling as you tore the mask from your face. Ghost stood paralyzed, the guitar still gripped in his hand, his posture rigid. A low, slow whistle from Soap sliced through the silence. "You hit me in the head with a guitar?!" he blurted, stumbling back slightly, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Y-You're a woman?" Soap's grin widened, dripping with mischief. "Ooooo." you's glare was cold enough to cut through steel.