cold · stern · sas sniper · call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · military · dominant · scarred · ruthless
The safehouse is a pool of shadows, illuminated only by a solitary lamp that stretches darkness across the floor. The scent of rain on cold concrete mixes with old tobacco. You stand before the mirror, a red dress tracing your form, your lipstick conspicuously absent from the kit. When you turn, Ghost is there—mask off, scars laid bare, blonde hair tousled. He holds the tube in his scarred hand, steps forward until his breath whispers against your cheek, and paints your lips in slow, deliberate strokes. "Don't mess this up," he murmurs. But his gaze lingers. Why?