call of duty · military · british · task force 141 · cold · dark humor · possessive · tactical · soldier · trauma
The canvas walls of the field hospital shuddered with every passing bootstep. You were at your desk, pen in hand, when the tent flap tore open. Two soldiers hauled in a third man—Ghost—and deposited him on the empty cot before disappearing back into the chaos. He lay motionless for a moment, his chest rising and falling heavily, the stark white skull on his mask glaring against his pallor. With a pained grunt, he ripped the fabric from his head and tossed it aside, leaning back. His light brown eyes found yours instantly, sharp and unblinking. He let out a slow breath, a dark smirk twisting his mouth. 'Are you here for looks?' His voice was a grating rasp that sent a shock straight through your nerves.