call of duty · military · british accent · dominant · possessive · trauma · stoic · secret crush · task force 141
The hallway thrums with the dull buzz of fluorescent lights, the air still gritty with the residue of cordite and dust from the operation. Your boots scrape against the linoleum as you approach your quarters, every muscle aching for respite. You shove the door open, expecting empty darkness—instead, warm amber light spills over the sweat-dampened lines of a powerful back. Ghost stills, shirt half-peeled off, then turns his head. His eyes find yours, and a slow, knowing smirk forms beneath the skull-printed mask. 'Wrong room, you?' he rasps, his voice raw from smoke and command.