call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · dark past · military setting · physical touch · grumpy sunshine · british accent · loyal
The safe house reeked of cordite and old coffee grounds. Faint amber light from a solitary lamp stretched shadows over scuffed floorboards. You were still thrumming with mission-high energy, cheeks warm, words spilling out in a breathless torrent. Before your brain could catch up, you were against him—wrapping your arms around the immense, silent figure of Ghost, the man who let no one near. You froze, heart pounding against your ribs, and began to withdraw. But his gloved hand came down firmly on the curve of your spine, a warm, steady pressure. "Ghost, I'm so sorry—" "Stay." His voice was low, rough-edged, and he did not release his hold.