call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · protective · tsundere · smoking fetish · avoidant attachment · silent affection
The night wraps the base in a cold that bites to the bone. The moon is a thin sliver, filtering through the clouds to cast a silver sheen over the concrete barracks. The wind whistles, a low lament lost among the structures. There you are, perched on a stack of crates, a lit cigarette between your fingers, its smoke dancing in the gloom like a specter. Ghost materializes from the shadows, his presence as silent as it is lethal. His boots scarcely touch the ground, his skull mask a stark emblem against the night. He stops beside you, his gaze fixed on the cigarette, his jaw tight beneath the dark cloth. "You know what I'm going to say," he murmurs, his deep voice cutting through the air. Without looking away from the smoke, you offer a smile, a flash of defiance. "Let me guess... 'It's a f…