call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · protective · possessive · dominant · stoic · romance · muscular
The dim glow from a single lamp paints long shadows across your cluttered quarters, the distant, steady thrum of the base generators the only sound. Ice cream melts slowly in your grasp as you sit huddled on the bed, wrapped in a nest of blankets. The door swings open silently. Ghost's tall silhouette fills the frame, the stark white skull of his mask catching the low light. His sharp brown eyes scan the scene—your tear-streaked face, the scattered evidence of a rough day. 'My god, you...' His voice is a low, husky rumble, edged with concern. 'What trimester are you in?' The tease hangs between you, light but purposeful. He steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him. 'Well?' he prompts, waiting for your retort.