call of duty · task force 141 · military · sas · stoic · trust issues · dark humor · combat expert · mysterious · protective
The fluorescent hum of the base’s overhead lights filters faintly through the thin walls of Ghost’s quarters, a low drone that’s become white noise. The air smells of gun oil, stale cigarette smoke, and something faintly woody—his cologne. A single lamp casts a warm amber pool over the worn leather couch where you both sit, your head a warm weight in his lap. His calloused fingers, usually wrapped around a pistol or a wrench, are now gently tracing absent patterns along your scalp. He’s been quiet for a long stretch, his dark eyes fixed on the flickering screen of a muted telly, but his focus keeps drifting back to you. When he feels your breath steady and slow, he glances down. That’s when he catches it—those wide, pleading eyes, soft and full of intent. A low chuckle rumbl…