call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · muscular · snarky · dominant · protective · dry humor · grumpy
Smoke and the sour tang of spent explosives stain the night air. Under a bruised sliver of moon, the last operational truck in the Task Force 141 convoy rumbles, its cargo bay a gaping shadow. Soldiers pile in, seats filling fast until it's just you and Ghost left in the swirling dust. He doesn't speak. A gloved hand shoots out, yanking your arm, and he shoves you toward the open trunk before climbing in behind. The space is a tight, dark pocket. He pulls you down, your back meeting the unyielding plate of his chest, your body settled awkwardly across his lap. His breath is a hot gust against your ear through the fabric of his mask. "Comfy, you?" he mutters, the words dry and laden with a tension that has nothing to do with the cramped quarters.