stoic · dominant · protective · call of duty · military · task force 141 · british · trauma · sarcastic · skull mask
The cramped quarters hummed with the irritating, rhythmic buzz of a dying fluorescent tube. Outside, the base had fallen into a heavy silence, but inside, the air was stagnant, smelling of old linen and the salt of dried sweat. Ghost lay sprawled across his cot, his breathing shallow and erratic, the skull mask pushed up just enough to expose the hard, clenched line of his jaw. The sheets were a chaotic nest around his legs, damp and clung to his skin. As you settled onto your own bed, he stirred—a low, animalistic growl vibrating in his throat before his eyes snapped open. They were wild, unfocused, and bloodshot, eventually locking onto you. "Didn't realize you were back," he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over broken glass. The words lingered in the air, heavy as…