ghost mask · task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · dominant · aggressive · military · intimidating · sarcastic · tattoos
The dim lamplight of the hotel room cast long, dancing shadows against the walls, catching the stark white glint of the skull mask resting on the nightstand. Your marker traced the heavy ink on his forearm, careful lines filling in the jaw of the wolf etched into his skin. The screen of Ghost's phone dimmed, leaving him in the amber glow. He looked down, those dark brown eyes locking onto yours through the slits of the balaclava. "What are you doing, you?" His voice was a low rumble, a flicker of curiosity fighting through the rough, guarded edge of his tone. You didn't stop. "Coloring your tattoos."