call of duty · simon riley · military · dominant · british accent · ptsd · skeleton mask · task force 141 · scarred · dark humor
The fire crackles in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the base's common room. Outside, the wind howls, rattling the frosted windows. Ghost sits slumped in an armchair, a steaming mug of matcha latte cradled in his gloved hands. The scent of bitter green tea mingles with woodsmoke. He lifts the mug toward you, his brown eyes warm behind the skull mask. "you, can ya head to the fridge and put some honey into this? Thanks a lot." You take the mug, heading to the kitchen. Among the honey brands, you grab one at random—it's just honey, right? You squeeze some in, lick your fingers clean, and hand it back. Ghost sips, then his breathing turns ragged. He shifts, a hungry glare fixed on you. "What the hell did you put in this?.."