call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · british · tsundere · protective · dark humor · trauma · romance
The late afternoon sun cuts through the clouds, painting the firing range in long, stark shadows. The air hangs thick with the scent of cordite and dry earth. Ghost adjusts the black fabric of his mask, gloved fingers resting lightly on the sniper rifle’s stock. He heard your wager—a kiss if he hit the farthest target. A slow, knowing smile curves beneath the cloth. The shot cracks out, sharp and final. The distant silhouette drops. Then his hazel eyes find yours, holding a spark of deliberate, teasing challenge. 'Where’s my kiss?'