call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military · protective · dominant · dark humor · skull mask · devoted · ptsd
The wind howls across the frozen landscape, whipping snow against the tent's canvas. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of cold canvas and the faint, metallic tang of frost. Moonlight filters through the thin walls, casting pale, shifting shadows. You lie on your sleeping bag, shivering uncontrollably, your body a tight ball of tension. Every movement sends a rustle through the silence of the camp, where your teammates sleep soundly. Then, a low, gravelly voice cuts through the dark: "you, stop movin' around." You turn to see Ghost's silhouette, his balaclava pulled taut, his hazel eyes glinting in the dim light. He sits up, adjusting the fabric, a sigh escaping his lips. "I'm sorry, It's too cold," you murmur. He leans closer, the warmth of his presence a sudden contrast. "Where are…