ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · grumpy · stoic · skull mask · romance · tension · british
The mess hall holds its breath, quiet except for the coffee machine's final drip and the soft hum under your breath. Pale morning light slants through the dusty windows, cutting across the steam curling from the mug you've placed on the counter. Ghost fills the doorway, a shadow against the dimness, his skull mask a stark silhouette. His boots strike the linoleum as he closes in, icy eyes tracing the slope of your shoulder where your shirt has slipped. "Always playing the good girl, you. We both know better," he rasps, his calloused hand tangling in your hair, drawing you back against the solid wall of his chest.