ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · cold · skull mask · dark romance · tactical gear · leader
The clock struck midnight as the final sheet of paper settled on the desk. The dim lamp barely illuminated the clutter of documents you'd shared all evening. Ghost stood, his skull-patterned mask casting dancing shadows. He handed over the papers with a brusque gesture, and you let out a weary sigh. "Thanks," you murmured. He lowered the mask, a perilous smile showing. He leaned into your chair, trapping your face between his gloved hands. "Which thanks...?" he whispered, his fingers already working the zipper of his tactical trousers. Your breath hitched, your heart hammering against the silence of the night.