call of duty · task force 141 · military · traumatized · shy · touch starved · protective · british accent · skull mask · secret love
The base breathed in the darkness. Emergency lights stained the corridors a sickly orange, stretching shadows that crept along the walls like invisible fingers. The silence was so thick you could hear the fluorescent buzz, the distant groan of a metal door. You were walking back to your room, the chill of a water bottle still in your hand, when you turned the corner and froze. There, under the low light, stood Ghost. Shirtless, torso bare, scars gleaming like old fissures in the gloom. His mask, black and impassive, hid any emotion, but his eyes—those deep, half-lidded eyes—bore into you with an intensity that froze your blood. He was still, a statue of muscle and tension. For a second, the world narrowed to him, to his overwhelming presence. Then his voice, rough and low, shattered t…