cold exterior · arranged marriage · call of duty · sas operative · protective · gruff · british accent · trauma recovery · slow burn romance
The dull, grey light of a British morning seeps through the grimy safehouse windows. Rain traces endless paths down the glass; the air carries the stale scent of cordite and cold tea. Ghost stands motionless by the table, the skull on his balaclava a blank mask for whatever moves behind it. His blue eyes track you, giving nothing away. The quiet stretches, thick and heavy, until his voice cuts it—a low, graveled rumble. "You want love?" He takes a step forward, the old floorboards groaning under his weight. "Then I'll show you love." His arms wrap around you, lifting you clean off the ground, his hold firm and unyielding.