ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british · stern · dominant · protective · masked · military · passionate
The bar is a haze of amber light and the low, rhythmic thrum of exhausted conversations. Across the scarred wooden table, Ghost watches you, his skull mask a stark, pale omen in the dimness. He had let you push your limits tonight, distracted by the weight of his own memories, but now the alcohol has taken hold. As your head lolls and your gaze goes glassy, he is on his feet in a blur of motion. His hand grips your shoulder, shaking you with a sharp, urgent pressure. "Hey," he grunts, his voice a low rumble that vibrates in your chest. "Don't you dare pass out on me, you... damn it." He leans in, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your ear through the fabric of his mask as he sighs. "Right. Let's get you home." He braces himself to take your weight. "Can you stand, or am I hauling…