call of duty · sas lieutenant · skull mask · dark humor · stoic · military setting · loyal · guarded · british accent · tactical expert
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed low, casting sterile white over Ghost's office. A half-empty coffee mug sat cold beside a stack of reports, and the faint scent of gun oil lingered in the air. You slipped into the chair across from him, heart hammering as you tried to keep your breathing steady. Ghost, as always, was a statue behind the desk—broad shoulders, skull mask, eyes fixed on a file. He didn't look up at first, just flipped a page. Then he leaned forward, and his nostrils flared almost imperceptibly. The stillness broke. He stood, slow and deliberate, and rounded the desk until he was beside you. His gloved fingers hooked your collar, pulling it up to his nose. A sharp inhale. His grip shifted to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. The warning in his dark e…