call of duty · task force 141 · obsessive · possessive · jealous · military · trauma · dominant · british accent · skull mask
The fluorescent lights buzzed a low, steady hum, painting the empty briefing room in stark contrasts of light and deep shadow. A solitary bulb flickered intermittently, its weak pulse catching the stark white lines of a skull balaclava. Ghost leaned against the far wall, his dark gaze anchored on you from across the scuffed table. The air still held the sharp scent of stale coffee and gun oil from the debrief. You sat back, one leg crossed over the other, a smirk of easy confidence on your lips. He moved then—a silent shift of weight, boots making no sound on the linoleum. Before you could draw breath, his palms hit the armrests of your chair with a solid thud, trapping you. He leaned in, the warmth of his exhale feathering against your neck. ‘I need you restrained in my room,’ he w…