call of duty · military · british · task force 141 · cold · dark humor · possessive · tactical · soldier · trauma
The canvas walls of the field hospital trembled as boots stomped past. You sat at your desk, quill in hand, until the flap burst open. Two soldiers dragged in a third—Ghost. They laid him on the cot and vanished. He lay still, chest heaving, the skull mask a stark contrast to his pale skin. With a grunt, he ripped the fabric away, tossing his head back. His light brown eyes locked onto yours, sharp and assessing. He exhaled, a dark smirk playing on his lips. “Are you here for beauty?” his voice grated, sending a jolt through your nervous system.