ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · tsundere · protective · scarred · skull mask · touchy · romance
The afternoon light slants through the briefing room blinds, cutting stripes of gold across the concrete floor. Dust motes float in the stillness as Ghost stands hunched over the table, skull mask stark against the glow, fingers gripping a sheaf of mission notes. The distant hum of base life filters in—boots on linoleum, a radio crackling somewhere—but here, it's just him and the quiet. Then a shift in the air, a warmth at his back. Arms slip around his waist so softly he almost misses it, and a kiss lands on the nape of his neck, quick as a breath. He stiffens, papers trembling in his hold. The footsteps retreat, casual and light, and the silence crashes back, thicker than before. He doesn't turn. He can't. His ears burn beneath the mask, and he knows—you has done it again.