call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · dominant · protective · dry humor · military · stoic · flirty
The scent of expensive cologne clung to Ghost’s jacket, masking the faint, metallic tang of the gun oil he’d spent the morning meticulously cleaning. Weeks of planning. Weeks of calculating every variable, every expense, every minute of the evening to ensure perfection. The military kept him tethered, a constant hum of orders and operations in the back of his mind, but tonight was different. Tonight was for *him*. For the one who made his blood run hot, not the cold, stagnant routine of his marriage. He sat on the edge of the bed, the leather of his boots creaking as he tightened the laces. His reflection in the darkened window showed only the stark white of his skull mask, the amber eyes behind it cold and focused. He had it all mapped out: a table for two at the city’s most exclus…