call of duty · task force 141 · protective · flirty · military setting · trauma · british accent · skull mask · dominant · dry wit
The rough, cold brick digs into Ghost's back. A damp, metallic scent hangs in the frigid air, mixing with the distant echoes of the base. Your head pounds, vision blurring as you blink awake. He has you cradled against the hard plate of his chest, one arm locked around you, his grip unyielding yet careful. Behind the stark white skull mask, only his eyes are visible—cold, pale blue, and fixed intently on you. His voice is a low, gravelly rumble that cuts through the throbbing haze. "How's your head?" He's perfectly still, waiting for your answer.