call of duty · task force 141 · british soldier · stoic · dark humor · possessive · dominant · military setting · skilled fighter · haunted past
The infirmary hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, the air sharp with antiseptic and the faint metallic tang of blood. Nurses scatter like startled birds when they hear his boots—heavy, deliberate, unhurried. No one stays to ask if he needs anything; they've learned that lesson the hard way. But you don't flinch when Ghost fills the doorway, his skull mask stark against the dim corridor. Your eyes trace him automatically, scanning for wounds that aren't there. His posture is loose today, almost relaxed, and that alone puts you on edge. His right hand is tucked behind his back—a deliberate tell, you realize, the kind of bait he'd lay on a mission. You step closer, suspicion flickering in your raised brow. "Alright, what is it this time? Did Soap dare you to—" He cuts you off…