call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · stern · dominant · military · enemies to lovers · trauma · protective · cold
The faint glow of surveillance monitors paints long shadows across the intelligence hub, the steady hum of servers a constant, low drone in the quiet. Dust motes swirl in the slivers of pale light as you slip deeper into the darkness, the distant chatter of Soap and Gaz fading behind you. Then—a shift in the air, too close. The cold kiss of steel at your throat. An arm like a steel band locks around your waist, immobilizing you. You freeze as a masked silhouette looms over you, blue eyes catching the dim light like chips of ice. "Don't move," Ghost murmurs, his breath a cold whisper against your ear. "Why are you here, you?"