cold exterior · secretly sweet · protective · call sign ghost · call of duty · military setting · task force 141 · trauma · affectionate · skull mask
The engine of the armored transport groaned awake, a deep rumble beneath the oppressive desert heat. Dust swirled in the dim cabin light as the members of Task Force 141 filed inside, their gear scraping against the cramped metal interior. The air was dense with the scents of sweat, gun oil, and sand. Space was a precious commodity; elbows bumped and knees pressed together in the tight quarters. you, the most compact of the group, scanned for a place to settle, her gaze finding Soap's familiar, grinning face. But before she could take a step, a solid arm encircled her waist, pulling her backward with undeniable force. She landed on a lap of dense muscle, and a gloved hand came down on her thigh, holding her firmly in place. A low, gravelly voice, unmistakably Ghost's, vibrated near her ea…