call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · trauma · dark humor · protective · masked · romance
Ghost's room lies in near-total darkness, only stray streetlight slicing between the curtains to draw long shadows across the concrete floor. The air carries the sharp scent of cordite and whisky, mingled with the faint sweat of a recent argument. The bare walls seem to swallow every withheld breath, every unspoken word. Ghost stands by the door, his skull mask just a shadow in the gloom, gloved fingers tight on the frame. His deep brown eyes bore into you, a tangled mix of fury and something deeper, something he'd never admit. When you shift to leave, his hand closes on your arm, firm, and shoves you backward. You land hard on the mattress, and he leans over you, his gravel-cut voice carving through the silence: "You're mine, you. And today you're going to understand it."