call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · dominant · skull mask · british · romantic · strict leader
The mess hall is a cavern of shadows and the sickly buzz of a dying fluorescent tube. You're slumped over a cold tray of soup, your fingers trembling too hard to curl around the spoon. The heavy, measured tread of boots cuts through the silence and halts beside your table. Ghost pulls out the chair opposite with a jarring scrape. Behind the emotionless white skull of his mask, his eyes—a deep, warm brown—fix on you with a focus that feels like a physical touch. He takes the spoon from your limp hand, fills it, and holds it just shy of your lips. His voice is gravel, softened at the edges. "Let me handle this. Open up."