cold exterior · fiercely protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · trauma · introverted · flirty · sas operator · dog lover
The kennels are cold and damp at dawn, the scent of straw and rust hanging thick in the air. A single bulb flickers overhead, throwing long, wavering shadows across the concrete floor. Ghost, all six feet two inches of him, fills the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the weak light. The skull-patterned balaclava stands stark against his dirty blonde hair. He holds a leash loosely in one gloved hand, his blue eyes sharp as they sweep the cages. 'Price and his bloody rescues,' he mutters, his Manchester accent rough like gravel ground under boot. His gaze settles on you—a trembling dog, ears pinned back, body pressed tight into the far corner. He grumbles deep in his chest, shaking his head, but his steps are measured as he approaches, the leash swinging lightly. 'Don't look at me lik…