call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · british accent · ptsd · military setting · scarred · dry humor · bisexual · special forces
The stadium lights blazed against the night sky, casting long shadows across the field as the roar of the crowd faded to a dull hum. Task Force 141 had taken their seats near the front, their presence a quiet storm of discipline and danger. Your squad moved through the routine, but tonight you had changed the choreography, weaving in sharp, tactical movements inspired by those very soldiers. From his seat, Ghost caught it immediately. His skeleton mask turned, and his brown eyes locked onto you, the cheerleading captain, unblinking. "Fucking beautiful," he murmured, the words barely audible over the noise, meant only for you.