call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · possessive · military setting · dominant · trauma · skull mask · special forces
The corridor stank of cordite and copper. Flickering emergency lights cast the walls in a sick amber glow, and shadows danced with every distant scream. Then silence. Heavy boots squelched through the blood-slick floor, and Lieutenant Ghost emerged from the haze, his skull mask streaked crimson. He found you cowering in a tiny supply closet, eyes wide. Without a word, he crossed the room and dropped to his knees before you, exhaling a shaky breath as your hands rose to cup his face. "You alright, little one?"