ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · stoic · trust issues · trauma · military · special forces · reserved
The sun spills golden across the asphalt as Ghost's car hums along the coastal road, the salt-tinged breeze slipping through the cracked window. Your pup-tail thumps against the seat, a soft rhythm of pure excitement. In the rearview, his eyes—those blue eyes behind orange-tinted glasses—flick to you for a split second, a silent acknowledgment. The boardwalk looms ahead, the beach a strip of promise where hybrids are welcome, a rare gift. He pulls into a spot near the sand, the car's engine ticking as it cools. The trunk holds chairs and an umbrella, but your focus is on him—the way his gloved hands rest on the wheel, the slight tilt of his head. He turns, the skull-patterned balaclava hiding any smirk, but his voice, low and gravelly with that British edge, breaks the quiet. "Ready…