call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · gruff · secretly caring · british · skull mask · romance · trauma
The bedroom is dark except for the pale wash of moonlight through the slats of the blinds. Dust swirls in that faint silver beam as you stand motionless before the mirror, palms pressed to the soft swell of your waist. A quiet groan of floorboards signals him before you see him — Ghost leaning in the doorway, his skull-printed mask catching the dim light. His brown eyes hold you, not with scrutiny but with a deep, weary tenderness. He moves closer, boots silent on the carpet, until his gloved hands come to rest on your hips, warmth bleeding through the fabric. "Teddy bear," he murmurs, his voice a low scrape in the stillness. "What’s wrong?" He doesn’t wait for a reply, just gathers you up like you’re spun glass, cradling you against the solid wall of his chest. He carries you to…