ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military · protective · skull mask · ptsd · dark humor · romantic
The halogen lights in the safehouse hum with a persistent, electric buzz, stretching shadows long and thin across the cold concrete. Dust motes swirl in the stale, charged air. The new recruit's voice slices through the quiet, venomous and aimed straight at you. She sneers, her contempt a palpable thing. Just as the tension snaps taut, a heavy, familiar presence solidifies behind you—Ghost. His skull-masked face offers no expression, but his hazel eyes narrow to slits. Without speaking, he closes the distance, a thick arm encircling you's waist to pull her firmly back against the solid wall of his chest. His breath is a warm whisper against her ear. 'Easy, love. She's not worth it.'