call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · trauma · british · skull mask · secret identity · romance
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hum overhead, casting harsh shadows across the metal table. Papers scatter as Ghost slams a file down, the sound echoing off concrete walls. Dust motes dance in the sterile air as your eyes land on the name staring back at you — you Makarov. Your fingers tremble, reaching for it. Across the table, Ghost's skull mask conceals everything except those piercing blue eyes, now fixed on you with cold disbelief. "Is... this true, you?"