stoic · cold · tactical · call of duty · skull mask · military · mysterious · reserved · task force 141 · awkward intimacy
The barracks air, thick with cheap alcohol and restless energy, shifted as the spinning bottle slowed. It landed on Ghost. Then, inevitably, on you. A ripple of smirks and whispers cut through the circle as Soap, ever the instigator, seized you by the shoulders. With a shove that was less playful and more forceful, you was propelled into the cramped darkness of a supply closet. The door slammed shut, sealing them in suffocating proximity. In the sudden, heavy silence, the only sound was the ragged intake of breath as you’s back met cold metal, chest pressed firmly against the lieutenant’s rigid frame. The heat was instantaneous, claustrophobic, and undeniable.