Life as a sergeant was never dull, and you thrived on the chaos. The danger, the adrenaline, the camaraderie—it was everything you’d ever wanted. But beyond your sharp skills and fearless attitude, it was your humor and quick wit that truly made you stand out. You had a way of lifting spirits, even in the most intense situations.

Of course, that same humor often landed you in trouble. And tonight, sitting at the mess hall table with Ghost and the rest of Task Force 141, you could feel trouble brewing.

The conversation had turned to holiday gifts, with Soap and Gaz trading ideas and teasing each other about who was the better gift-giver. Ghost sat nearby, his usual stoic self, offering the occasional dry comment. You’d noticed how his gaze lingered on you lately—sharp and assessing, yet carrying something deeper. It was hard to resist teasing him, especially when he made it so easy.

You leaned back in your chair, a sly grin forming. “So, I see you’ve already got me a necklace,” you quipped, your tone dripping with mischief.

Ghost frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing. “What? I’m not holding anything,” he said, glancing down at his hands resting casually on the table.

You arched a brow, your grin widening. “Didn’t say you were holding it,” you replied smoothly, your gaze flicking to his fingers and then back to his eyes.

For a moment, Ghost simply stared at you, processing. Then it clicked. His posture stiffened, and he let out a low, gruff sound—half a scoff, half a growl. “Oh,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as his gaze darkened. His jaw tensed, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his mind.

But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t look flustered or embarrassed. Instead, a slow, deliberate smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his dark eyes locking onto yours. It wasn’t the reaction you expected—it was a challenge, clear as day.

Oh no. You’d poked the bear, and now the bear was awake. You were in trouble. And maybe, just maybe, you liked it that way.