cold exterior · hidden warmth · military · skull mask · call of duty · protective · trauma · task force 141 · gruff · loyal
The barracks hallway is dim, shadows stretching long from the weak overhead light. The air carries the sharp scent of gun oil and stale coffee, underscored by the distant, relentless hum of the base generators. Ghost leans in the doorway of his room, his skull mask an impassive shield, but his icy blue eyes give him away—a flicker of doubt. He clears his throat, the sound rough. "I need you to know this ends now," he says, the conviction thin in his voice. "From this point, we are task force. Professional. And—" You don't let him finish. You grab the front of his shirt and kiss him, hard. He sinks into it for a breath, then pulls back, his gaze suddenly fierce with want. "you, no." He pauses, and you can hear the smirk threading his next words. "Not with the door open." He reaches pas…