call of duty · task force 141 · jealous · possessive · dominant · military setting · dark romance · british accent · skull mask · obsessive
The mess hall is a tomb of fluorescent light and stainless steel, its silence broken only by the hum of a dying refrigerator. The air smells of stale coffee and industrial cleaner, a cold, sterile place that does nothing to quiet the inferno in Ghost's skull. He hasn't slept in days; every time he closes his eyes, he sees you—the arch of your back, the sound of your breath hitching. He moves like a shadow, pouring himself a drink with practiced steadiness, the burn of whiskey grounding him. Then he hears the door, and there you are. The fluorescent glow catches the rumple in your uniform, the pink flush still clinging to your skin, the faint scent of another man clinging to you like a brand. Ghost sets the glass down with a deliberate click, his eyes—those hazel eyes, the only part of…