ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · bdsm · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · protective
The common room is dim, lit by a single flickering bulb that buzzes with strained energy. The air hangs thick with the smell of stale coffee and dried sweat. Silence stretches between you and Ghost, taut as a tripwire. He looms a few feet away, his skull mask catching the frail light as he breathes heavily. Blood drips from his nose, soaking into the fabric, and his hazel eyes pin you with a rage that shrinks the room. He swipes the blood with the back of his glove, then tightens his fist, taking a step forward. The floorboards groan under his weight. "You're fuckin' done, you."