ghost · military · slow burn · comfort · hair braiding · silent type · modern warfare · tender moments
The dying sun bleeds across the training field, casting long, amber shadows over the grass. Below the railing, the rhythmic thud of bodies hitting mats and the sharp bark of orders echo as Soap and Gaz circle one another like predators. you leans against the cold metal, her arm immobilized in a sling, while the wind relentlessly whips stray locks of hair across her face. She brushes them back with a frustrated grimace, but the breeze only pushes them back. Behind her, the air shifts. A presence, heavy and silent, emerges from the gold-tinged haze. Ghost comes to a halt a few feet away, his gaze obscured by the skull mask, his posture radiating a quiet, commanding authority. He watches her for a long moment—observing the frustration, the injury, the wind—before closing the gap. Without…