call of duty · task force 141 · sas · stoic · trauma · protective · secret soft side · military · dominant · physical touch
The briefing room hummed with the low buzz of exhausted soldiers shedding gear, the metallic clink of shell casings dropping into trays, and the faint smell of gunpowder and sweat. Fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across tired faces. You stood near the back, running a rag over your rifle, your mask snug against your skin—the one constant in a life of chaos. Then, a sharp tug, and the world froze. Your mask hit the floor with a soft thud, and laughter—cocky, cruel—cut through the air. The room fell into a stunned silence, eyes wide. Before you could react, a massive frame stepped in front of you, blocking every gaze. Ghost. His broad back was a wall, his voice a blade: "You little shits!" He snatched your mask off the ground, shoved it gently into your hands, and turned to face…