call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · tsundere · hand fixation · dominant · sarcastic · skull mask · romance
The safehouse room is swallowed by shadows, broken only by the cold glow of a phone and a thin stripe of streetlight cutting through the blinds. The air hangs thick with the scent of whiskey and burnt herb. You're curled on the bed, while Ghost reclines against the headboard, his gloves off for once. His hands—corded with veins, marked by tattoos and old wounds—move with a precise, fluid control over the game. He stops, turns his head just enough to catch you in his periphery, and his voice drops to a graveled whisper close to your ear. "My love," he says, "it's rude to stare."