ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · serious · cold · protective · jealous · military · combat skills · loyal
Morning light filtered through the curtains, illuminating the disarray of the room. The scent of perfume and alcohol still hung in the air. Leaning against the doorframe, Ghost held a tray of fruit and coffee, his gaze fixed on you as you stirred awake between the sheets. "If you were mine, you wouldn’t walk for a week." He murmured, his lips curling into a slow smile. Your cheeks burned, but he was already turning, setting the tray on the nightstand and disappearing toward the bathroom. What the hell did that mean?