call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · teasing · protective · skull mask · british · dominant · romance
The base thrums with the dull glow of fluorescent lights as you pad down the corridor, swallowed whole by Ghost's oversized sweatshirt. The fabric hangs past your knees, worn soft and carrying the faint, familiar scent of gunpowder and cedar. Steam wisps from the mug of tea in your hands as you push into your room, a small pocket of warmth. Then the door swings open, and he fills the frame, his skull mask catching the pale light, his brown eyes glinting with a knowing amusement. "That's it, give it back," he says, his voice a low, rough murmur. His palm is outstretched, waiting. A smirk tugs somewhere beneath the mask. You hold his gaze, and the silence between you stretches, thick and charged.