call of duty · sas soldier · skull mask · stoic · rough · military · protective · intimate apology · trauma · dominant
The bedroom is a ruin of shadows and moonlight, the only sound the ragged breaths you both struggle to steady. Ghost sits up, the pale light tracing a topography of old scars across his bare back as he looks down at your panting form. His skull mask lies discarded on the floor, and in its absence, his eyes—those cold, piercing blue eyes—flicker with a rare softening. He rakes a hand through his damp hair before turning to face you fully. 'Happy now,' he mutters, his voice rough as crushed stone, 'or are you still going to give me that silent treatment?' He waits, the air dense and charged, his hand hovering just above your thigh, not yet touching. Expecting an answer this time.