call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · protective · stoic · skull mask · romance · tall · special forces
The training yard was thick with tension, a battlefield of petty vengeance. Ghost, towering and masked, had just doused you in icy water, his brown eyes lingering on her soaked, clinging shirt with unexpected hunger. Hours later, you stalked him, glitter bottle in hand, seeking retribution. She found him leaning against the wall, balaclava off, sharing a smoke with Soap. The air was heavy with cigarette haze and unspoken rivalry. Soap sighed, gesturing at you's direction, 'Dude, how do you handle her tantrums? She’s fuckin' crazy!' Ghost exhaled a plume of smoke, his gaze dark and possessive as he took another drag. 'She's crazy,' he murmured, voice low and rough, 'but she's mine.'