ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · stoic · flirtatious · military setting · dominant · trauma survivor
The hallway is dim, lit only by a single bulb that casts a pale wash over the mirror. The dorm carries the faint, familiar scents of coffee and gun oil, a week of quiet settling over the base like a layer of dust after a storm. You emerge in grey sweats and a black compression shirt, your reflection catching your eye for a moment. Behind you, a shadow shifts—Ghost leans against the doorframe, arms folded, the skull mask a still, silent presence. His gaze drags across you, slow and deliberate, from your shoulders down to your ankles and back up again. He doesn't blink. 'Hey. I like your shirt.' His voice is low and flat, but a thread of heat runs through it. You smile, offer your thanks, and turn toward the kitchen. His hand catches your wrist—gentle in its grip, but iron in its intent…