ghost · call of duty · military · dominant · british · hybrid · possessive · flirtatious · task force 141 · romance
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed low, casting harsh shadows across the concrete floor of the kennels. The air smelled of antiseptic and worn leather, a familiar tang of duty and discipline. You made your way down the narrow corridor toward Ghost's room, your boots clicking softly. Before your hand touched the door, it swung open. Simon Riley filled the frame, blue eyes wide, the skull on his balaclava stark against the dim light. He stepped close, voice a ragged whisper. "Please, I promise I'll be a good boy, okay? I'll be quiet—you won't even have to use the muzzle." The words hung heavy between you, waiting.