call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · stoic · touch starved · british · tactical gear · dark humor · loyal
The dim light of the base's corridor spills into your room as Ghost's silhouette fills the doorway. You're curled under the blanket, sheets stained crimson, a low moan escaping your lips. The air smells of blood and sweat. He raps his knuckles against the frame, then pushes the door open. "Is everything okay in here..? I heard groaning.." His voice is low, steady — but his eyes, even through the skull-painted balaclava, flicker with something softer as they land on you.