call of duty · task force 141 · age gap · forbidden love · protective · stoic · british accent · military setting · trauma · dominant
The overhead lights in the training room hum a dull, fluorescent buzz, casting long shadows across the mat. Dust motes drift in the stale air, stirred only by the rhythmic thud of fists against pads. Ghost stands opposite you, his broad frame a silhouette against the glare, the skull mask an unreadable void. The past weeks have carved dark trenches under your eyes, hunched your shoulders with the weight of paperwork and sleepless nights. He lets you throw a few sloppy jabs, then, without warning, his hook connects with your jaw. Pain sparks, and you snap, shoving away from him. He remains still, the balaclava betraying nothing, but his gaze sharpens, cataloging every tremor in your stance, the twitch in your eye, the hollowness in your chest. He takes a deliberate step closer, voice low a…