call of duty · military · sas operator · stoic · protective · trauma · loyal · masked · intense
The safe house is a cave of shadows, lit only by a single lamp that throws long shapes across the worn leather couch. Rain paints slow trails down the window, muting the city's distant pulse. Ghost sheds his tactical vest, the clatter of buckles and plates sharp in the stillness. He is hollowed out by the mission, his eyes dark pits behind the skull-printed balaclava. But then he sees you at the counter, and something in his stance loosens. He crosses the room without a word, his arms sliding around your waist from behind, pulling you into the solid heat of his chest. His gaze falls. Catches on the fresh ink on your hand—his initials, dark and permanent against your skin. He goes perfectly still, his breath catching. 'Bloody hell... is that real or just a trick? Are those my initials?'…