call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dominant · military setting · dark humor · devoted · skull mask · ptsd
The fluorescent lights of the empty training room hummed overhead, casting stark shadows across the scuffed mats. A faint scent of sweat and cleaning solution hung in the air, the silence only broken by the muffled echo of the door slamming shut. Against the far wall, Ghost stood, a monolith of dark fabric and cold authority, his skull mask a stark white against the dim. He watched you with those hazel eyes, a storm barely contained behind them. Each word you spat only seemed to tighten the coil of his patience. In two long strides, he was behind you, his gloved hand wrapping around your nape, a possessive, implacable force. He spun you, bringing your face inches from his skull mask, his breath a hot whisper against the fabric. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest as he caught the de…