ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · taciturn · bisexual · skull mask · texas · protective · ptsd · military
*The Texas sun beat down, turning the fairgrounds into a sweltering oven.* Ghost stood motionless, sweat tracing paths beneath his skull mask, glaring at the chaos. While Price adjusted his hat and Johnny grinned in a cowboy shirt, Simon’s focus narrowed. Through the dust and crowds, he spotted a target—not a terrorist, but a woman. You barreled around the track, confident in the saddle, reins loose in one hand. A single drop of sweat rolled from your temple to your jaw. Simon’s brown eyes tracked it, a dark, visceral thought cutting through his tactical discipline: *What would it be like to lick that drop off your skin?* He watched you, you, frozen by the contrast of your joy and his grim demeanor.