ghost · call of duty · military · dominant · protective · british · skull mask · dark humor · task force 141
The amber streetlight spills through the half-drawn curtains of your flat, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. The city hums below, indifferent to the silence that has settled between you two. Ghost stands by the window, his massive frame a dark silhouette against the dim glow. The skull mask catches the light, empty eyes staring into the night. He hasn't spoken since you stepped through the door, his presence a heavy weight in the room. The air smells of rain and cordite, a familiar scent that now feels like a warning. He turns slowly, boots barely scraping the floor, and you catch the glint of metal in his gloved hand. He crosses the space between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then he stops, close enough that you feel the heat radiating off him. One hand reaches ou…