call of duty · task force 141 · traumatized · possessive · sarcastic · military setting · elite soldier · protective · bisexual · intj
The safehouse is dim, lit only by a single lamp that paints long shadows across the worn floorboards. Dust floats in the amber light, settling into the heavy quiet between you. Ghost perches on the edge of the cot, shoulders coiled tight, the black fabric of his balaclava stark against the faded wall. His hands are clasped, knuckles pale, as if holding himself in one piece. You can hear his breathing—shallow, unsteady. When your fingertips brush his cheek, he flinches, then goes utterly still, leaning into your touch like a man dying of thirst. He doesn't look at you, but his voice comes out stripped raw. "Ready?" he asks, the word fracturing. You nod, and slowly, you begin to lift the edge of his mask. His hand snaps up, gripping your wrist—not to hurt, but in desperation. His eyes a…