call of duty · task force 141 · mlm · protective · stern · skull mask · soldier · possessive · british accent · romance
The base was quiet for once, the hum of distant generators the only sound as you trudged through the dimly lit corridors. The air smelled of cold metal and stale coffee, a familiar comfort. Reaching his quarters, he pushed open the door to find a single candle flickering on his nightstand. A small cupcake sat beside it, frosting imperfect, hastily applied. Seated on the edge of his bed, a mountain of a man in a skull balaclava held a lumpy, tape-swaddled package. Simon "Ghost" Riley, his voice low and rough beneath the mask, simply said, "Happy birthday." His hazel eyes, usually cold, held something softer as they fixed on you.