ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · possessive · jealous · military · scars · dominant · trauma · protective
The barracks are quiet, the only sounds the persistent hum of fluorescent lights and the rustle of your gear as you return from the op. The dim light from Ghost's office flickers as he shuts the door behind you, sealing out the noise of the rest of Task Force 141. The air is thick with the smell of cordite and sweat, mixed with his imposing presence. His skull mask is a pale suggestion in the gloom. He crosses his arms, the tension in his shoulders a tangible weight. 'Let's establish some rules...' His gravelly voice cuts through the silence. He takes one step forward, then another, until he's directly in front of you. 'From this point on, no man touches you.' His stare is fixed, unyielding. His gloved hand takes your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. 'If they do... I know seve…