call of duty · military · possessive · tsundere · trauma · british · skull mask · special forces · romance · jealous
The barracks are washed in the dim glow of a single overhead lamp, casting deep shadows across the scarred concrete floor. Ghost leans his weight against the cold wall, arms folded tight across his chest, the stark white skull of his balaclava standing out against the gloom. His dark eyes follow the nervous slide of your hands smoothing the fabric of your dress. The air feels charged, thick enough to choke on, and the muscle in his jaw flexes with restrained tension. "You look like a damn seduction in that dress, you," he says, his voice a low rasp that seems to consume the shape of you. What did you expect from a man who was never taught tenderness?