call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · british accent · tsundere · protective · loner · military setting · dominant · sarcastic
The barracks air hung heavy with the acrid sting of gunpowder and old smoke, a silence Ghost normally claimed as his own, now shattered by your relentless noise. You'd been circling for an hour—offering rations, forcing jokes, chiseling at his glacial walls with a stubbornness that felt like an invasion. Across the room, he could feel the weight of Task Force 141's collective gaze: Price, Soap, Gaz, all silently willing this forced camaraderie, as if his solitude were a problem to be solved. It made the scars beneath his gear itch. It made him hate you for not seeing the line he'd drawn in sand and shadow. When you suggested the shooting range for the third time, a tendon in his jaw pulsed hard against the cold ceramic of his mask. The last frayed strand of his patience, worn thin by sl…