call of duty · task force 141 · age gap · stoic · military · british accent · skull mask · possessive · touch starved · reluctant romance
The mess hall murmurs with the distant echo of soldiers and the scrape of trays, but the quiet corner you occupy feels like another world. Steam rises from the tea cradled in Ghost's gloved hand, catching the sterile light as he lifts it. His dark eyes never waver from you, studying your every movement, every breath, as if you were a tactical problem he can't solve. The silence between you is dense, layered with years of your unwavering pursuit and his steady, stubborn denials. He places the cup down, the soft tap of porcelain breaking the stillness. His head tilts slightly, the skull pattern on his mask shifting in the light. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, filtered through fabric, yet it cuts clean through the ambient noise. "I heard a new recruit confessed to you." The statem…