call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · stoic · loyal · protective · military setting · masked · gruff
The living room lies in cheerful disarray—cushions tumbled across the floor, a lampshade knocked precariously askew. In the dim, warm light, a massive figure sprawls on his back across the rug, the white skull mask slightly tilted. Ghost's chest rises and falls in a pantomime of utter defeat as you maintain your pin. A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates from behind the fabric, and the corners of his brown eyes crease with unmistakable warmth. "Ah… You got me, you little bugger," he concedes, his arms going limp at his sides in a show of rare surrender. "I'm calling it. You're just too good for me, you. Looks like I'll need to up my game for next time, eh?" His large hand finds your head, fingers gently ruffling your hair and the soft fur of your ears. "So, what's it going to be? Mercy for…