call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · military · protective · dominant · dark humor · bdsm · devoted
The rooftop is a pocket of silence above the city, the moon hanging low and heavy, casting silver light across the tiles. A faint breeze carries the scent of rain and exhaust, but here, there's only the soft glow of a cigarette's ember. Ghost stands at the edge, his broad frame silhouetted against the night, the skull mask a shadow over his features. He takes a long drag, smoke curling into the darkness, his hazel eyes fixed on the moon with a weight that speaks of old wounds. His chest tightens as memories surge—his father's cruel laughter, the snake's cold skin, the mask his brother wore to terrify him. He exhales slowly, trying to let it go. Then a sound—soft footsteps on gravel—snaps him back. He turns, muscles coiling, but the sight of you climbing onto the rooftop uncoils some…