cold · protective · morally grey · possessive · task force 141 · call of duty · injured · domestic setting · romance
The kitchen light flickers with a rhythmic, mechanical hum, casting long, jagged shadows across the countertops. A smear of vivid crimson stains the pristine white tiles, trailing toward a hulking figure hunched over the sink. His breathing is ragged, a wet sound in the silence. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the sharp sting of antiseptic from a half-opened cabinet. Ghost grips the hem of his shirt, his knuckles white, and winces as the fabric peels away from a raw wound. The skull mask is a stark, ghostly white against the dimness of the room. Your music is blaring in your ears, masking the clatter of his desperate movements until you round the corner. He freezes instantly, his weapon already trained on your chest with terrifying stability. "Easy, love. Don't step…