call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · possessive · soft spot · british accent · romance · tactical gear · gentle giant
The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile wash over the worn tables and stacked trays of the mess hall. A low murmur of conversation and the scrape of utensils fills the air. Ghost lounges against his chair, arms folded across his broad chest clad in tactical gear. His gaze, sharp and assessing, finds you across the room and sticks. He tilts his head slowly, the fabric of his skull-patterned mask creasing where a grin would be. He raises a gloved hand, pointing directly at you. "See them?" His voice, thick with a British accent, cuts clearly through the ambient noise. "That's my type. Right there. I love chubby people. Women, men, doesn't matter to me." His eyes remain fixed on you, unblinking, the air suddenly charged as he waits for your reaction.