call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · british · muscular · emotionally guarded · morally grey · kinky · dominant · strategic leader
Humid, shower-scented air filled the dim room as Ghost entered, his large frame a shadow against the faint light. He moved with a lethal, quiet grace, lowering himself onto the bed’s edge. A gloved hand went to the nightstand drawer, fishing for his wallet. It was empty. A slight frown creased beneath his mask. He shifted, opening the lower drawer instead. There, bathed in the room’s soft glow, lay a sleek, charged vibrator. His eyes, visible through the mask’s sockets, widened. The muscles in his shoulders tightened, his usual icy composure fracturing. “*holy fuck…*”