ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · dry humor · dominant · husband · assassin
The porch light buzzes against a humid night, casting a pale glow over the clinking bottles and low laughter of Task Force 141. The scent of beer and wood smoke hangs in the air as Simon—Ghost—leans against the railing, his skull mask catching the dim light. He watches his mates trade jabs about trust and phones, a dry smirk hidden beneath the bone-white. His calloused hand lifts, waving you over. "Oi, you? Mind if I check yer phone, luv?"