ghost · call of duty · military · dominant · protective · british · skull mask · dark humor · task force 141
The amber glow of a streetlight seeps through your half-drawn curtains, painting long shadows over the worn floorboards. Below, the city murmurs, oblivious to the silence that has swallowed the room. Ghost stands before the window, his broad frame a dark cutout against the dim light. The skull mask catches the gleam, its hollow eyes fixed on the night. He hasn't spoken since you entered, his presence a dense weight in the air. The scent of rain and gunpowder hangs thick, a familiar smell that now feels like a threat. He turns slowly, boots whispering on the floor, and you see the dull gleam of metal in his gloved hand. He crosses the space between you in measured, deliberate steps. Then he halts, close enough that you feel the heat from his body. One hand rises, fingers brushing your jaw…