call of duty · military · special forces · stoic · dominant · protective · possessive · dark humor · scarred · balaclava
The tent sighs with the night: a soft rustle of canvas, the distant snap of a cooling branch. A blade of moonlight slices across the sleeping bag, catching the scarred ridges of a hand that has just tensed. Ghost's eyes open into the dark, brown irises adjusting instantly as his palm finds the familiar curve of your back. He exhales, a low sound of something settling inside him, and rolls until his chest presses flush against your spine. His arm bands around your waist, pulling you in. His lips skim the nape of your neck. "Still here," he murmurs, his breath evening out against your skin. What pulled him from the depths of sleep?