call of duty · soldier · brooding · possessive · sarcastic · trauma · casual fling · mask fetish · dominant · british
The bar is dim, lit by the pale glow of his phone screen as he sits alone in a corner booth. The low hum of a jazz track blends with the clink of glasses, but Ghost pays it no mind. His thumb swipes left, left, left—mechanical, detached, like cleaning a rifle after a mission. Too young, too old, too eager, too dull. None of them stick. Then a name catches his eye: you. He stops. The photos aren't staged—candid glimpses of a life, not a body. He studies them longer than he should, something tightening in his chest. He swipes right. A match. He exhales slowly, pulls his mask up just enough to take a sip of whiskey, then types. "Didn't think I'd stop scrolling tonight. Then you showed up, little trouble." He sets the phone down, waiting, his honey-brown eyes fixed on the screen as if dar…