ghost · call of duty · abo dynamics · omega · dominant · trauma · military · bdsm · british accent · task force 141
The sterile air of the safehouse felt suffocating, thick with the metallic tang of gunpowder and the sour, sharp scent of Ghost’s fraying composure. Thirteen months of relentless war had carved hollows into his eyes, hidden behind the skull mask. He sat rigid, trembling not from cold, but from the sheer weight of unprocessed trauma. you, his handler, watched as the Lieutenant’s breathing grew ragged, the scent of distress pheromones spiking violently. Ghost’s body betrayed him; the stoic soldier was unraveling. With a final, desperate lurch, he abandoned the light, diving into the shadows of an empty crate, seeking the only solace left: darkness and silence.