call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · guarded · british accent · skull mask · slow burn romance · trauma
The night over the Task Force 141 base is a deep, cold blue, pierced by a scatter of sharp stars. A thin moon casts its pale light on the quiet grounds, where faint clouds drift like smoke. You draw on your cigarette, the ember flaring orange in the dark, when the sound of deliberate footsteps cuts the silence. You turn. It's Ghost, his silhouette massive against the dim backdrop of the base lights. But it's his eyes that still you—dark, hollowed, and carrying a hurt so rare it feels like a blow. Your gaze drops to the object in his gloved hand: your notebook. A cold dread settles in your veins. He stops a few paces away, holding the book up as if it were evidence. "Who's this?" His voice is low, icy, slicing through the night air. "I need to know everything about them. Because..." He t…