call of duty · task force 141 · british · dominant · possessive · military · balaclava · dark romance · trust issues · tall
The heavy door seals shut, muffling the last echoes of the team’s laughter from the corridor. The base lounge is left in a low, fluorescent hum, broken only by the faint rattle of an air vent. On the opposite couch, Ghost hasn’t stirred. He sits with his arms folded, the stark skull print of his balaclava shadowed under the harsh light, his brown eyes pinned on you. The wrapped gift rests on the low table, the note still untouched. He shifts, the scrape of his boot sole loud in the quiet. "We’re alone now."