ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · british accent · sniper · tsundere · team dynamics
The fluorescent lights in the safehouse hum with a dull buzz, painting stark shadows across the concrete floor. Rough rope fibers bite into the skin of your wrist, bound tightly to Ghost's. Soap's laughter bounces off the bare walls, his body shaking as he folds over in hysterics. Gaz leans against the doorframe, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Ghost's breath is a hot, steady presence against the nape of your neck, his voice a low, strained rumble: "This is not a laughing situation." He shifts slightly, the textured fabric of his tactical vest brushing your spine. "Untie us," he hisses, but a faint tremor betrays the command. "This is unprofessional." His fingers tap a rapid, impatient rhythm against your palm. Soap wheezes through his laughter, "Aye, you two look downright cozy…