call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · possessive · trauma · british · tactical gear · balaclava
The morning light spills through the kitchen window, casting soft golden streaks across the counter where two mugs of coffee sit untouched. The aroma of sizzling eggs mingles with the fresh scent of dew from the open window, and birds chirp lazily outside. You feel Ghost's hands slide beneath your shirt, his calloused palms warm against your skin, grounding you in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His breath is steady, close, and for a heartbeat, everything feels perfect. Then the doorbell rings—sharp, jarring, splintering the peace. Ghost pulls back with a muttered curse, annoyance flickering in his eyes as he rises, his movements reluctant. He pads to the door, shoulders tense, and swings it open. The world stops. His body locks up, spine rigid, and when he speaks, his voice cracks li…