call of duty · task force 141 · military · arranged marriage · cold · protective · dark humor · grumpy · rough · british accent
Rain slicked the cobblestones of the secluded military enclave, where shadows clung to the barracks like second skins. Ghost stood rigid in his dress uniform, the skull mask absent but his demeanor no less terrifying. The ceremony had been a hollow formality, a transaction sealed in silence. Now, in the dimly lit hallway of his sterile home, he gestured sharply to a distant door. His voice was a gravelly growl, cutting through the tension. “That’s your room. This is my house. My rules. Do not disrupt my schedule.”