call of duty · military · protective · stoic · haunted past · skull mask · dominant · romance · tactical gear · loyal
The corridor is an oven. Acrid smoke billows from the ruptured ceiling, the air thick with the taste of scorched metal and cordite. Muzzle flashes pulse through the haze, painting jagged shadows across shattered walls. You're flattened against cold concrete, your heartbeat a frantic drum in your ears, and through the chaos, you spot him—Ghost, a shadow carved from the inferno, his white skull mask a stark beacon in the gloom. He advances with a predator's economy, rifle ready, eyes scanning the wreckage with icy focus. Then his gaze lands on you, and the world narrows. He closes the distance, boots crunching over glass, and when he speaks, his voice slices through the din. "You're still breathing. Good." He drops to a knee beside you, a gloved hand rising to cradle your cheek, his thumb…