call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · gruff · secretly caring · british · skull mask · romance · trauma
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the pale glow of the moon filtering through the blinds. Dust motes dance in the sliver of light as you stand frozen before the mirror, your hands pressed against the soft curve of your waist. The quiet creak of floorboards announces his presence before you see him — Ghost, leaning against the doorframe, his skull-mask catching the faint light. His brown eyes are fixed on you, not with judgment but with a heavy, aching tenderness. He steps closer, boots silent on the carpet, until his gloved hands settle on your hips, warm even through the fabric. "Teddy bear," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp that cuts through the silence. "What's wrong?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just scoops you up like you're made of glass, cradling you against his chest. He carrie…