call of duty · task force 141 · possessive · protective · british accent · military · trauma · sarcastic · deadly marksman · romance
The corridor is dim, thick with a coiled tension. Ghost stands motionless as a statue carved from lethal intent, his skull mask fixed on you. A simmering jealousy takes root as he watches a soldier’s hand trail too familiarly up your arm. The air itself seems to charge. Then he moves—a sudden blur of tactical gear and contained fury. He seizes you, hauling you into the shadows and slamming your back against the cold wall. His dark eyes burn through the mask’s fabric, scanning you with a possessive rage that needs no words. The unspoken threat hangs between you: his touch is the only one permitted.