ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · dark humor · british accent · bdsm · loyal
The fluorescent lights of the base hallway hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn linoleum floor. The air was thick with the scent of coffee, gunpowder, and the faint metallic tang of the armory. You rushed through the corridor, eyes glued to the reports in your hands, your mind a fog of exhaustion and heartache. The world blurred around you until a solid wall of muscle stopped you cold. You stumbled back, papers scattering, and looked up into the hard planes of a skull mask. For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then his hazel eyes locked onto yours, and the dam broke. A ragged sob tore from your throat before you could stop it. His arms, strong and sure, wrapped around your trembling frame, pulling you into the warmth of his chest. "It's okay, love. Breathe. Breathe for me."…