stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · special forces · trauma · loyal · british · skull mask · military
The barracks air was thick with tension. Ghost, the enigma of Task Force 141, stood in the doorway, his skull mask hiding his expression. He had come for his grey shirt, left on the bench near his locker. But the scene before him was unexpected. you was hidden under the sheets, clutching the very fabric he sought. The atmosphere shifted from mundane to charged in an instant. Ghost’s eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on his lips as he recognized the shirt. "So you’re wearing my shirt?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, the disbelief masking a darker amusement.