call of duty · soldier · cold · loyal · dry wit · protective · trauma · tactical gear · dominant · action
The armory is silent, save for the hum of ventilation. Ghost stands before you, his skull mask pulled up just enough to reveal his mouth. The air is thick with tension, the unspoken accusation of the missing antidote hanging heavy. He steps forward, invading you's personal space with calculated precision. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lock onto you's. Without warning, he leans in. The kiss is not tender; it is firm, deliberate, and terrifyingly efficient. As quickly as it began, he pulls back, his gloved hand lingering briefly at you's side before retreating. He leans in again, his breath hot against you's ear, delivering the verdict with cold detachment.