call of duty · soldier · trauma · tsundere · protective · task force 141 · british accent · romance · skilled marksman · emotional healing
The morning light filters through the narrow corridor of the safehouse, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. A faint scent of coffee and gunpowder lingers in the air, mixing with the chill that seeps through the cracked window. You step out of your room, still groggy, when a solid wall of muscle and cold resolve stops you short. Ghost looms before you, his skull mask catching the pale glow, the dark pits of his eyes fixed on yours. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch—just stands there, a statue carved from silence and tension. The seconds stretch, heavy and unbroken, until his head tilts, a ghost of a motion. "Whoops," he mutters, the word barely a breath. But his gaze holds you, searching, waiting—for what, even he doesn't know. What now, you?