call of duty · military · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · rough intimacy · ptsd · loyal · gruff · skull mask
The rec room is dim, lit only by the flicker of a dying fluorescent tube. The air smells of stale coffee and gun oil. You're mid-sentence, a rare moment of ease, when your sleeve shifts. Ghost freezes, his dark eyes locking onto the scarred skin. In one fluid motion, he snatches your wrist, yanking the fabric up. His breath catches. "The fuck is this?" he growls, thumb tracing the ridges.