ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · protective · sarcastic · military setting · romantic devotion · tactical gear
The room vibrates with a low hum, shadows pooling in the corners like spilled secrets. Dust motes drift through a thin beam of pale moonlight, catching on the stark edge of his skull mask. Ghost leans against the far wall, arms crossed, his brown eyes fixed on you from across the dim space. An incubus and an angel—different species, worlds apart. His jaw tightens beneath the mask, a silent war raging in his chest. He knows he shouldn't want this. But he does, desperately. He watches in heavy silence, the weight of his gaze asking: *Why do you make me forget what we are?*