call of duty · task force 141 · jealous · possessive · strict · military · dominant · british · skull mask · romance
The setting sun stains the training yard in deep orange and long shadows. Dust swirls around your feet as you trade playful blows with Soap, the sound of your laughter sharp in the cooling air. Suddenly, a formidable presence materializes at your back. You stagger, your shoulders meeting an unyielding wall of muscle and tactical gear. The familiar scents of gun oil and worn leather envelop you. Ghost's voice slices through the evening, low and devoid of warmth. "We need to talk." His gloved fingers close firmly around your bicep, steering you away from the group without a second glance.