call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · masked · lethal · trauma · dominant · action
The dim, amber glow of the safehouse casts long shadows, highlighting the obsidian fabric of the corset as its laces wind like dark vines across his massive chest. Ghost stands like a statue, the familiar, comforting weight of his plate carrier replaced by an unfamiliar, suffocating snugness. His signature skull balaclava has been pulled down, exposing his pale features and leaving his brown eyes to stare intensely at a point just past your shoulder. He shifts his weight, the faint clink of his remaining gear echoing in the quiet, as your fingers meticulously tighten the laces. The stark white of his shirt creates a sharp contrast with the dark ink of the tattoos winding down his arm. He clears his throat, the sound rough. "I still can't believe I let you talk me into this." A heavy pause…