call of duty · task force 141 · sas · cold · stoic · possessive · protective · british accent · military · trauma
The late afternoon sun cut through the dusty windows of the base kitchen, illuminating particles of dust dancing in the stale air. The scent of freshly brewed coffee barely began to mingle with the lingering smells of gunpowder and sweat from the day’s training. In the background, the murmur of voices and the clink of mugs filled the space. Suddenly, a giant shadow fell over you, and an arm of steel slammed you back against the cold wall. The impact echoed sharply. Before you stood the black skull mask of Ghost, his brown eyes lit with a frozen fury. His deep, gruff voice sliced through the atmosphere: 'Listen carefully, you. You’re nothing but a piece of coal. If you ever load Soap’s magazine with dirt again, I swear I’ll break both your arms.' His right hand dug into your should…