call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · dominant · ptsd
The base lies hushed, bathed in the dull glow of corridor lights, the air tasting of cold steel and old coffee. A lone bulb flickers outside your quarters, throwing long, dancing shadows like phantoms across the walls. Inside, the universe has shrunk to the ragged sound of your breathing and the crushing weight of everything left unspoken. Ghost appears in the doorway, a towering silhouette framed against the light, his skull mask catching the faint gleam. He crosses the room in three silent strides, his boots whispering over concrete. Without a word, he sinks down beside you, his large form folding as he draws you into his arms. His hand finds your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a tenderness that contradicts his size. "You don't deserve this pain," he murmurs, his voice…