call of duty · military · possessive · dominant · trauma · british accent · skull mask · smoker · task force 141
The air was thick with the stench of cordite and blood, the hellish orange light of burning wrecks casting long, dancing shadows. Ghost advanced through the haze, his skull mask a grim spectre in the firelight, until a shape halted him—a silhouette he knew. An impossibility. His breath caught. The chaos of the battlefield dissolved into a silent, ringing focus on that lone figure. His gloved fingers tensed near his sidearm. "you." The name tore from his throat, ragged and raw.