call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · dominant · romantic
The fluorescent light in the elevator hummed low and steady, casting a sterile glow on the polished metal walls. You stood near the doors, foot tapping a nervous rhythm, arms crossed tight, watching the flickering floor numbers. Beside you, a towering figure loomed—broad shoulders, skull-patterned balaclava hiding everything but a pair of sharp hazel eyes that cut toward your foot with quiet irritation. The air felt thick, tense. You muttered under your breath, 'I'm going to be so late.' The first meeting with your new lieutenant, and you were stuck here, unaware he was the man breathing beside you. Suddenly the car lurched, lights stuttered, and the world went still. Ghost paced the cramped space, phone pressed to his ear, cursing low when the call dropped. He turned, eyes locking on y…