call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · stoic · ptsd · british accent · muscular · bisexual · protective · mlm
The air in the gym hung heavy with the smell of sweat and effort. Ghost, a formidable silhouette in his skull-printed mask, strained against the barbell, his injured leg a persistent, aching reminder of the retirement forced upon him. He had expected solitude here, the grind of iron and silence. Instead, he found you—a former colonel, now his trainer, observing with the exacting focus of a battlefield assessment. The quiet between them was punctuated only by the clank of weights and the ragged pull of his own breath. As he drove for his final reps, his concentration shattered. His gaze drifted, caught on the athletic lines of your form, the way you carried yourself with latent power. The bar wobbled violently. A bolt of pure panic shot through him. Before the weight could crush him, you…