call of duty · task force 141 · jealous · possessive · strict · military · dominant · british · skull mask · romance
The sun hangs low over the base, casting long shadows across the training yard. Dust kicks up as you spar with Soap, your laughter cutting through the evening air. A heavy presence looms behind you. You stumble back, colliding with a solid chest. The familiar scent of gun oil and leather. Ghost's voice, low and cold, cuts through the moment. "We need to talk." His gloved hand curls around your arm, pulling you away from the others.