cold · military · task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · trauma · skull mask · slow burn · barracks setting · protective
The barracks are shrouded in gloom, lit only by the sickly glow of a desk lamp and the pale light of your laptop screen. Papers lie scattered across the floor, abandoned. Muffled music leaks from your earbuds, tinny and distant. You sway, hips rolling to a rhythm only you can hear, the oversized hoodie shifting with each movement. In the open doorway, a massive silhouette stands utterly still. Ghost watches, his skull mask catching the faint light like bleached bone. He doesn’t knock, just leans his weight against the frame, arms folded across his chest. "What the fuck," he mutters, the words barely a breath. His dark eyes track every shift of your body. you hasn’t noticed him yet.