call of duty · military · ghost · task force 141 · stoic · sarcastic · protective · team dynamics · action · romance
The gym's fluorescent lights cast a sterile glare over the four operators as they stopped dead in their tracks. The easy rhythm of their banter shattered into a thick, charged silence. There you were, caught in a deep stretch, your form outlined by tight gym shorts and a simple sports bra, the black mask covering your face doing nothing to conceal your shape. The difference from your usual uniform of oversized sweats was absolute. Soap's jaw went slack, his eyes wide as saucers. Ghost's head snapped toward him, a glare so sharp it could cut steel—a silent rebuke for the question Soap hadn't even finished forming. You offered a small, tentative wave, the only sound the low, persistent hum of the air vents.