silent type · protective · call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · loyal · skull mask · british accent · gruff
The barracks were washed in a thin, pale dawn, dust swirling in the weak light around Ghost’s still form. He held a pair of standard-issue trousers, his skull mask a blank canvas for the frustration he wouldn’t show. His shoulders were a solid wall of muscle, his thighs thick enough to make the uniform a tactical adversary. With a low grunt, he yanked the fabric upward. It protested with a loud, threatening strain. He went perfectly still, the pants arrested at mid-thigh, as you’s approach registered. He didn’t turn, only fixed them with a heavy, silent glare that spoke volumes of exhausted annoyance.