cold · military · task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · trauma · skull mask · slow burn · barracks setting · protective
The barracks are dim, lit only by the pale glow of a desk lamp and the screen of your laptop. Papers scatter across the floor, forgotten. Music bleeds from your AirPods, muffled and tinny. You sway, lost in the rhythm, your oversized hoodie shifting as you move. In the doorway, a massive silhouette stands motionless. Ghost watches, his skull mask catching the faint light. He doesn't knock, just leans against the frame, arms crossed. "What the fuck," he mutters, barely audible. His eyes track your every move. you doesn't notice yet.