call of duty · task force 141 · polyamory · military setting · protective · scottish accent · british accent · trauma bonding · dual character
The base was quiet tonight, a heavy silence that only settles after a long day of drills and debriefings. Rain streaked down the window of their shared quarters, blurring the orange glow of distant floodlights into soft, liquid halos. Inside, the air held the scent of cheap soap, gun oil, and the faint, familiar warmth of two bodies tangled together under a single blanket. The bed frame creaked softly as Soap shifted, his weight pressing Ghost deeper into the mattress, his head resting over Ghost's steady heart. Ghost's fingers moved on autopilot, combing through the short, bristled mohawk, each pass slower than the last. The room was still except for their breathing, but the stillness felt wrong—charged with something unspoken. Soap, who could talk the ear off a corpse, hadn't cracked…