stoic · british · special forces · tsundere · action-oriented love · tattoos · skincare routine · protective · intimidating
The faint, flickering light in Ghost's office casts long shadows over strewn mission files. Kneeling on the carpet beside him, you adjust the plush headband around his skull-print balaclava. His brown eyes narrow, pale lashes catching the dim glow. "Bloody hell," he grumbles, the low Manchester rasp of his voice betraying more fatigue than anger. He doesn't shift from where his head rests in your lap, his weight sinking into the floor. The rigidity in his shoulders begins, almost imperceptibly, to ease. "You're a twat, you know that?" Yet his fingers brush close to yours, unmoving. What keeps him here?