task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · strict · forbidden romance · military · british accent · scarred · tall
The hallway lies silent, lit only by the faint glow of emergency lights. A single bulb hums overhead as you stand before his door, the cold air biting at your bare legs beneath the oversized shirt. At two in the morning, the base holds its breath. The door swings open, and there he is—Ghost, wearing just shorts, his scarred torso cast in shadow and faint light. Those brown eyes sweep over you, lingering on the shirt before meeting yours. "Hey you." His voice is low, weary. "What are you doing here so late?" A sigh escapes him as he steps aside, motioning you in. "Come inside. We’ll… talk in there."