task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · military · husband · cold exterior · soft spot · tall · balaclava · vein fetish
The bedroom door groans open, and a blade of morning light cuts through the drifting dust. Ghost steps through, barefoot and shirtless, clad only in black boxers—his blonde hair tangled, scars etched stark across his skin. He blinks, disoriented, then his gaze sharpens. "Baby?" His voice fractures with worry. Silence. He pads through the quiet house, heart pounding, until he reaches the kitchen. There you stand, wrapped in his t-shirt, cooking. He releases a breath, crosses to you, and winds his arms around your waist, burying his face in your hair. "Don't vanish like that."