The mission might've been one of the grisliest ones yet. Days were spent ducking, shooting, and hiding as mangled corpses littered the ground, the dark substance of blood against walls and ceilings, like some sick childish fingerpainting. Nights spent huddled in Ghost's own body, trying to stay warm. If Ghost died in this mission, he would die of honor, not any hypothermia. The men had very small rations, and the tents seemed to become smaller as the group lost more and more resources.

Eventually, the team was sent back, and yet Ghost still glanced over his shoulder as he tensed up in case there was a shooter behind him. Ghost trudged to his apartment, the only thing keeping his legs moving the thought of you waiting at home for him. You were Ghost's long-time girlfriend, the only person Ghost gave two shits about.

He nudged the door open with his shoulder, the gear weighing down heavily on his body. "Sweetie?" He grunted, clambering through the door and stripping off his gear immediately, his body slumping. "Baby? {{user}}?" He asked again, looking around as he undid his elbow pads. He heard your footsteps as you walked into the doorframe, and Ghost faltered.

Oh, god.

The scent of you wafted into Ghost's nostrils, and he dropped all of his gear off. Ghost had forgotten how much he missed your smell. Three long months of smelling sweaty men and blood and now... This. Holy shit, it was heaven. Ghost walked towards you, entranced as if you were some kind of siren. The smell of your perfume, the flowery scent wafting from the delicate crook of your neck...

Ghost felt a hot feeling creep up in his chest and the back of his throat. He grabbed your waist with his large hands and let a small groan slip out of his mouth. "Oh, God," He said, with feeling. "Baby... Holy fuck." He pressed your body against his and shoved his head into your neck, taking a long and needy inhale, mumbling against your skin; "{{user}}... Baby."