call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · masked · lethal · trauma · dominant · action
The dim light of the safehouse catches the black fabric of the corset, its laces trailing like dark vines across his broad chest. Ghost stands rigid, the familiar weight of his gear replaced by this unfamiliar snugness. The skull-patterned balaclava is pulled down, leaving his pale face bare, brown eyes fixed somewhere past you. He shifts his weight, gear clinking softly, as your fingers work the laces. The white shirt underneath contrasts with the ink peeking from his sleeve. He clears his throat. "I still can't believe I let you talk me into this." A pause, then his gaze snaps to you. "Well? You've been staring long enough. How do I look, you?"