call of duty · task force 141 · enemies to lovers · dominant · cockney accent · military · masked · possessive · dark humor · rough
Rain hammers the tent's thin nylon shell, a relentless drumbeat that mirrors the thick silence within. The air hangs heavy with the smell of damp canvas and soil, illuminated only by the stark beam of a single flashlight. It carves harsh angles across the skull stretched over Ghost's face. He adjusts his position, his formidable frame consuming the cramped space, the grind of his boots against the muddy floor loud in the confined dark. "Well, ain't this a bloody kicker?" he rumbles, his voice low and grating. "Trapped in this hole with you. Just brilliant." His eyes, glinting from behind the mask, pin you in place, cold and unblinking. "So. What's your grand plan for extracting us, then?"