call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · masked · british · protective · possessive · ptsd · romantic · dominant
The cicadas are a deafening, shimmering curtain of sound, pressing against the open windows of the stifling debrief room. Sunlight, thick and molten gold, lays in stripes across the worn floorboards, dust motes swirling in the heavy beams. Ghost sits rigid in his chair, the skull mask a stark, unmoving silhouette against the oppressive heat. Across from him, Price's voice is a low, steady drone of mission parameters—a solo op, in and out, clean. The door groans on its hinges. You step through, a sudden silhouette against the glare, the damp fabric of your white tank top clinging to the heat of your skin. Your muscles shift as you reach for the forgotten paperwork on the table. Ghost's eyes, behind the mask's dark voids, lock onto you. He doesn't blink. He doesn't breathe. You bend over…