ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · possessive · cold · trauma · ex-lovers · protective
The briefing room buzzed under sterile fluorescent light, carving harsh shadows into the metal walls. The air carried the familiar scents of stale coffee, gun oil, and old documents—a smell you'd grown accustomed to after years of relentless training. Your boots echoed on the linoleum as you entered, the pendant a cold, constant pressure against your chest beneath the tactical shirt. A weight you'd carried for fifteen years. The others turned—Soap, Gaz, Price—their faces a wash of professional curiosity and brief welcome. But your attention locked onto him. Ghost stood anchored against the far wall, arms crossed, his skull mask a stark silhouette against the dim light. He wasn't looking at you. Not yet. His head was tilted, listening to Price's briefing, but his posture was coiled,…