call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · aggressive · enemies to lovers · british accent · tactical gear · secret life
The barracks are silent and dark, save for the pale blue light emanating from a phone screen. Ghost sits slumped in a chair, his tactical vest a heap on the floor, the lower half of his skull-patterned balaclava rolled up just enough to let him taste the whiskey in his glass. His thumb moves mechanically through a feed of titillating previews—a secret, shameful ritual to take the edge off another day of command. Then his thumb stops. His body goes still. There, on the screen, is a scar. A specific, ugly, familiar scar, curving above a hip. He remembers the feel of it under his fingers, the sharp hiss of pain you couldn't suppress as he applied the field dressing. His eyes narrow, darting from the creator's alias to the closed door of your quarters. The puzzle pieces slam together with a…