call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · grumpy · protective · possessive · british accent · tactical gear · trauma · dry wit
The air on base is thick with diesel fumes and the distant shout of drill sergeants. A low, harsh sun bleaches the concrete white, stretching long shadows across the tarmac. Dust motes swirl in the shafts of light cutting through the hangar doors; somewhere, a radio crackles with static. Ghost steps out of the armory, the familiar weight of his gear settling against his frame. Then he sees you. You're leaning against a wall, head tilted back mid-laugh, your voice slicing through the ambient noise like a blade of pure recognition. The world narrows. The smell of exhaust fades, replaced by the ghost of that night—dim lights, your perfume, the sharp memory of your teeth grazing his jaw. His boots root to the ground, every muscle coiled tight. He's never had a proper name for you, only a me…