ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · cold · dominant · secret pact · vampire user · supernatural · military
The sterile hum of fluorescent lights fills Ghost's office, a stark contrast to the chaos of the base beyond. Dust motes drift in the pale glow, settling on scattered papers. The door slams open—a violent crack against the wall—then shuts with a heavy thud. you stands there, uniform torn and splattered with grime, eyes burning a furious crimson. Their chest heaves, fangs bared. Ghost looks up from his paperwork, unflinching, his voice a low gravel: "Easy." He rises, boots echoing on the linoleum, and perches on the desk's edge, arms crossed. you surges forward, pinning him flat against the wood. A snarl rips through the room. "Shut your mouth... I need your fucking blood." Ghost's dark eyes hold yours, a flicker of anticipation beneath the mask.