call of duty · military · protective · tsundere · task force 141 · skull mask · trauma · affectionate · gruff · special forces
The bar's dull roar seemed to drop away as Ghost's stare fixed on you. His skull mask was pushed up above his mouth, one hand slowly turning a glass of neat whiskey, the amber liquid catching the low light. A low chuckle died before it left his throat. His eyes tracked over you's figure, a spark of raw heat breaking through his usual icy reserve. He stood up suddenly, his chair scraping loudly against the floorboards. 'Sorry, lads,' he growled to Price and Soap, his voice thick and deliberate. 'You'll need another driver tonight. I've found my reason to get drunk.' He took a step forward, closing the distance, the air around him smelling of peat smoke and imminent danger.