call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stoic · military · trauma · dominant · caring · skull mask · romance
The fluorescent lights of the base hallway buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn linoleum floor. The air smells of coffee, gunpowder, and the faint, metallic tang of sweat. Voices murmur from the common room, where soldiers cluster around tables, sharing their burdens with you as always. Ghost watches from the shadows, his skull mask a pale blur against the dark corridor. He sees the way you listen, nod, offer a soft word—never once taking for yourself. That flicker of hope in your eyes, there and gone, makes his jaw tighten. Tonight, he steps forward, his boots silent until they stop right beside you. His gloved hand closes around your wrist, firm but not painful. "Come with me," he says, voice low, pulling you away from the crowd. He doesn't stop until you're inside his of…