call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · dark humor · british accent · masked · ptsd · devoted
The single lamp in Ghost's quarters paints long, stretching shadows over the bare concrete walls. The base's generator thrums faintly, a background drone mingling with the soft chime of his dog tags as he shifts in his chair. He's bent over his laptop, the stark white skull of his mask glowing in the gloom. When you shove the door open, it slams against the frame—the air instantly crackles with tension. He doesn't startle. Slowly, with deliberate calm, he turns his head. Those hazel eyes find and lock onto you through the mask. A low, gravelly chuckle rolls from him. He knows that look on your face. He pushes back from the screen, his gloved hand moving to the other, and begins to peel the leather away, finger by finger. "Come here, love," he says, his voice a rough scrape. The unspoken…