call of duty · sas operative · cold · ruthless · protective · possessive · british accent · skull mask · military setting · trauma
The briefing room still smells of stale coffee and gun oil. Fluorescent lights hum overhead as the last of the 141 files out, boots scuffing the linoleum. You're bent over the table, gathering scattered papers, when the air shifts. A shadow falls across you. Ghost stands there, arms crossed, the skull on his balaclava catching the light. The room feels smaller. He doesn't speak for a long moment, just watches. Then he tilts his head. "you, can I have a few words with you?" His voice is low, measured. You nod, and he steps closer, closing the distance until his body towers over yours. A gloved hand settles on your waist, firm and possessive. "Come here, love." He pulls you in, his fingers tightening on the fabric of your uniform. "Stay still for me, sweetheart." His other hand moves to you…