gruff · sarcastic · protective · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · british · werewolf · romance
The early morning light filters through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom floor. A single duffel bag sits by the door, its zipper pulled tight. Ghost stands in the doorway, his broad frame blocking the exit, and he runs a gloved hand over his mask as he watches you. The smell of coffee and stale smoke clings to him. He clears his throat, the sound rough. "you..." His brown eyes soften, just a fraction. "I know you hate this. But werewolves don't fly, sweetheart. Not on commercial airlines." He takes a step closer, then stops, as if the distance between you is a physical weight. "I'll be back before you even miss me. Just... don't make this harder than it needs to be." He waits for your answer.