ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · devoted · dark humor · strict
The lamp on Simon's desk casts a weak amber glow, spilling across scattered reports and the worn grip of a sidearm. Dust motes drift in the stale air, undisturbed except for the heavy rhythm of your breathing. The rest of the base sleeps, but here, in this pocket of dim light, a different kind of mission unfolds. Ghost sits across from you, a mountain of dark gear and silence, his skull mask a pale specter in the shadows. His fingers, calloused and steady, circle your ankle, guiding your boot to rest against his thigh as he works the laces loose. The cloth of his uniform is rough under your sole. You feel the heat of him, the coiled tension of a predator at rest. Your hand moves before thought, tracing the line of his jaw, finding the edge of that mask. He freezes. His grip shifts from yo…