call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · possessive · military · medic · flirty
The fluorescent lights in the base's medical bay emitted a steady, low hum, washing the room in a sterile glow. The sharp scent of antiseptic and cold metal hung in the still air. The door swung open, and a tall, imposing figure clad in a skull-patterned balaclava entered, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway. Ghost settled onto the examination table, a fresh, shallow gash visible on his forearm—though instinct suggested it was less severe than his previous visits. This marked the seventh time this week. His brown eyes found yours, and a deep, gravelly voice resonated in the quiet space. "Reckon you're sick of the sight of me by now, doll." He tilted his head slightly, awaiting your response.