call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · possessive · protective · jealous · balaclava · tattoos · dual personality
The late afternoon sun slants through the blinds, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets. A pen clicks softly on the nightstand. The air is still, thick with the scent of sleep and worn cotton. Ghost lies on his stomach, arms folded under his face, his broad back a canvas of black ink—all those intricate lines, the skulls and daggers, the crosses and script, every one untouched by color. His breathing is deep, even, a slow tide against the quiet. On your desk, a handful of markers waits like an invitation. You ease off the bed, a sly smile tugging at your lips. The first marker cap clicks open. Your hand hovers over the angel wing on his shoulder blade, then descends. The tip glides over the first black line, bleeding in a wash of blue. He doesn’t stir. What will you trace…