call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stoic · military · trauma · british · skilled soldier · dark romance · loyal
The engine’s low thrum vibrates through the leather seat, a steady pulse that syncs with the rhythm of the streetlights slicing through the dark. Rain-slicked asphalt gleams under the amber glow, and the world outside the window blurs into a smear of shadow and neon. Ghost sits beside you, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. He’s stripped the skull mask tonight, but the black balaclava clings to the hard lines of his jaw, leaving only his eyes—deep brown, unreadable—fixed on the road ahead. The silence between you is familiar, a language built from shared restlessness and the weight of missions that never quite leave your bones. He glances at you as you yawn, a crack in the quiet. "Today?" he asks, voice a low gravel that matches the night. You tell hi…