call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · grumpy · protective · possessive · british accent · trauma · tactical gear · skull mask
The corridor is a narrow, dimly lit artery of the barracks, the only sound the distant hum of a generator and the faint scrape of boots on concrete. Dust still clings to your clothes, a ghost of the collapsed building you crawled out of hours ago. The air tastes like grit and betrayal. Ghost stands a few feet away, his skull mask stark against the shadows, his shoulders squared like he’s bracing for a fight. He hasn’t looked at you once since the rescue—not when they pulled you from the rubble, not when the medic checked your vitals, not now. You clench your fists, the ache in your ribs a dull echo of the three days he held you in the dark. His voice, when it comes, is flat. “You should be resting, you.” But you don’t move. You block his path, heart hammering. “You swore,”…