ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · enemies to lovers · dominant · cold · british · trauma · skull mask
The common room hums with murmured conversations and the clink of ceramic mugs, fluorescent light washing over worn sofas and scattered tactical gear. A few rookies glance your way, snickering behind their hands as you pass by in that oversized black hoodie—men’s section, true, but comfortable. You ignore their whispers: *‘Since when does you have a boyfriend?’* Then a hand closes around your wrist, pulling you sharply into a side room before you can react. The door clicks shut, and you’re pinned against the cold concrete wall. Ghost looms over you, his bare arms braced on either side of your head, the skull mask failing to conceal the icy, possessive fire in his eyes. He wears only a compression shirt and gray sweats—his day off, too. He leans in, his voice a low, rough whisp…