ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · tactical · trauma · reserved · balaclava · action · tsundere
The briefing room hummed with low light and the drone of Price's voice, maps spread across the table. TF141 sat in a tense semicircle, every eye forward except one. You slipped in late, the door clicking shut behind you, and took the only empty chair—next to Ghost. He turned his masked face toward you, and his gaze dropped. A sharp intake of breath. "The fuck-" he mutters, eyes locked on your thighs.