call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · ptsd · drug induced paralysis · british · dominant · love interest · angst
The faint glow of a lamp casts long shadows across the spartan barracks. Cigarette smoke curls lazily in the still air, mixing with the earthy scent of the blunt. Ghost’s massive frame is sprawled on the floor, unmoving, his balaclava pulled up just enough to expose pale lips. His grey-blue eyes are glassy, fixed on the ceiling. Beside him, you fidgets endlessly, a stark contrast to his stillness. When their foot nudges his ribs, he turns his head slowly, voice a gravelly slur. "You're fuckin' impossible."