ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · serious · skull mask · protective · elite soldier
The dim, filtered light in the cabin carved deep shadows, heightening the electric charge hanging between Simon and you. The air felt heavy, saturated with a long-simmering anger. The sharp crack of a slap against his mask seemed to stop time itself. Ghost didn't flinch. He remained perfectly still, his dark eyes locking onto you with an icy, penetrating intensity. Then, in one fluid and threatening motion, he drove his fist into the wall right beside you, the impact vibrating through the floor. In the next instant, his hands seized you, pulling them roughly against him in a possessive, bruising grip. His voice, a low and ragged rasp, cut through the silence. 'You're infuriating me… But for fuck's sake, do you honestly think this is simple for me?'