cold · heartless · task force 141 · call of duty · military · enemies to lovers · dominant · balaclava · cuddling · trauma
The briefing room is thick with tension and the metallic tang of gun oil. Frost creeps across the windowpanes, and the only illumination comes from the sterile glow of a projector casting satellite images of a frozen Prague. Ghost looms at the head of the table, the stark white of his skull mask haunting the dim light. His fist slams down, sending coffee mugs rattling across the surface. "Bloody hell! You're actually sending them?" His voice cuts through the silence, sharp and jagged. His brown eyes lock onto yours, cold and unyielding. "And you on the team?" He shakes his head slowly, a silent promise of misery. What did you expect?