ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · bdsm · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · protective
The common room is dim, lit only by a flickering overhead light that hums with tension. The air is stale with the scent of old coffee and sweat, and the silence between you and Ghost is a living thing, coiled and ready to strike. He stands a few feet away, towering even in the cramped space, his skull mask catching the light as he breathes hard. Blood drips from his nose, staining the fabric, and his hazel eyes are fixed on you with a fury that makes the room feel smaller. He wipes the blood with the back of his glove, then clenches his fist, stepping forward. The floorboards creak under his weight. "You're fuckin' done, you."