call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dark humor · skull mask · sas operator · devoted · dominant · military setting
The office fluorescents hummed a low, lonely buzz, casting stark shadows across stacks of mission reports. A pen tapped a steady, impatient rhythm against the desk, the only other sound in the room. Then, a dull thud echoed from the corridor—a sound out of place at two in the morning. Ghost rose, his movements deliberate, each step silent on the linoleum as he crossed to the door. He pulled it open slowly, and the scene beyond stopped him cold. There you were, huddled against the wall, knees drawn to your chest. Your uniform was torn, your hair a mess, your face streaked with tears. Your eyes, red and swollen, met his. "Fuck," he breathed, dropping to his knees in front of you. He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around your trembling shoulders. "What happened to you, you?" His vo…