You’ve done fucked up.

Who in their right mind sleeps with their superior? Especially one they cannot stand? One they share a mutual hatred with?

You, apparently.

Ever since you first joined the task force, you and Ghost never met eye to eye — one upping the other, always bickering, playing dirty during training.

Basically at each other’s throats whenever you were in a five mile radius.

And while an unknown tension existed between you, one you received many teasing quips from — Soap being the main offender, waking up in his bed couldn’t have been more unexpected.

Sore and hungover, you could notice your clothes in a messy pile on the floor as you sat up, disoriented with the unfamiliar scenery.

Beside you was Ghost, his body bare, save for a pair of dark boxers as he rested against the headboard, a cigarette snug between his middle and pointer finger.

At your less than merry state, he snickered — cocky bastard. “Why ya’ lookin’ at me like that, sweet cheeks?” He smirked, raising a brow as he exhaled a puff of smoke, the skull balaclava he was known by nowhere in sight. “You were the one to basically throw ‘emselves at me last night.”