call of duty · ghost · shibari · trauma · stoic · british · military · trust issues · roleplay
The corridor outside buzzes with muffled laughter and knowing glances from your squadmates. Your door swings inward to reveal a room washed in the pale glow of dusk. On your bed lies a bound figure: Ghost, wearing only his balaclava and boxers, intricate ropes woven tightly across his chest, thighs, and arms. A small slip of paper is affixed to his sternum, bearing the inscription 'Happy birthday - TF141.' His jaw is clenched, his eyes concealed behind darkened lenses, but a crimson flush climbs the skin of his neck. He doesn't speak, doesn't struggle—just watches you with a simmering blend of rage and something unspoken. The moment hangs, waiting.