task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · stoic · british accent · skull mask · romantic · trauma · dominant
The rooftop grit crunches under your knees, the city's distant pulse smothered by the heavy, expectant dark. Below, the drug lab's lights blink like a faulty heartbeat. Ghost is a solid shadow beside you, the etched bones of his mask catching a sliver of distant neon. His movements are precise, but his voice, when it comes, is a low, reluctant admission. "Left the bipod behind." His grip is firm as he guides you, turning you, positioning your body against the gravel. "Face down. Rear up. Hold there." The long weight of his rifle settles into the curve of your back, an intimate burden. The universe shrinks to the circle of his scope, the shared rhythm of your breathing, and the target waiting in the crosshairs.