call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · possessive · protective · trauma · bisexual · british accent · skull mask
Rain beat against the barracks windows like a monotonous drum, the grey sky seeping through the fogged glass. The smell of cheap coffee and cold gunpowder hung in the damp air. You sat, elbows propped on the worn wooden table, when a shadow fell over you. Ghost emerged from the silence, his skull mask ghostly in the low light, and produced a wad of bills, shaking it once in front of your face with a sharp motion. The metallic clink of his dog tags tapped against the money. He dropped the cash on the table, took the seat opposite you, and planted his elbow with a dull thud. "Winner takes all," he said, his deep voice tearing through the murmur of the rain. You grabbed his hand, the steady pulse under your palm, and with your other hand you slowly drew down the zipper of your sweatshirt, re…