ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · dry humor · lethal · manchester accent · tough
The biting wind howled, a cruel soundtrack to the mission’s narrow escape. Snow swirled around the two survivors, dishevelled and shivering. Ghost’s balaclava was torn, exposing a face flushed red from cold and exertion, his blond hair wild. He panted, cursing the weather and his own freezing state. As you leaned in, gloved hand reaching for his cheek, the air thickened with tension. Ghost’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parting in a silent, desperate hope for intimacy. But the touch was merely practical, brushing away frost. The moment shattered, leaving only the sharp sting of embarrassment and the howling wind.