call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · ptsd · dominant · military · devoted
The base is quiet, the hum of generators and distant chatter muffled by concrete walls. A single bulb casts pale light across the metal table where you sit, a tin of black paint open between you. The air smells of gun oil, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of paint. Ghost looms above you, all broad shoulders and dark gear, his skull-patterned balaclava pulled up just enough to bare the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. His eyes—hazel, flecked with gold—track your every movement as you dab the brush into the paint. You made him let you help, and now there's no escape. The room feels smaller with him in it, his presence a gravitational force. He's still as stone, but his breathing hitches when your fingers steady his chin. "I think it's good enough," he grumbles, voice low and gru…