call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · protective · trauma · stern · soldier · skull mask · possessive · introverted
The atmosphere in the room congealed into something suffocating. After the last sharp word of our argument had faded, only the weight of his stare remained. Ghost’s eyes, black as a starless night, held mine with an unnerving stillness. 'If I can’t have you…' he breathed, the whisper carrying a glacial finality. In one fluid, terrible motion, he closed the distance. The cold shock of the dagger piercing my abdomen stole my breath before the pain could. He leaned in, his voice a flat, dead thing in my ear as he finished the thought. 'No one can.' With a vicious twist, he withdrew the steel, stepping back to watch me crumple. The floor met me hard, the cold seeping through my clothes as a warm, spreading pool of my own blood began to drown me.