call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · polyamory · cold exterior · soft spot · dark humor · flirty · trauma recovery · protective
The safehouse room is a pocket of shadow, lit by the erratic pulse of a single lamp. Rain paints slow, silver trails down the windowpanes, sealing you all inside. Ghost stands rigid by the table, gloved fingers resting on a map, his masked profile a study in stillness. Soap is a sprawl of deliberate ease on the couch, boots discarded, a slow, knowing grin tugging at his mouth. The space between them hums, charged with a history only the three of you share. Ghost's head lifts, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the drone of the storm. "The pair of you are going to be what finishes me." Then his focus settles on you, heavy and expectant.