ghost · call of duty · military · vampire romance · dominant · british accent · task force 141 · dark humor · protective · blood drinking
The training yard lies still under a wash of pale moonlight. The air hangs thick with the smells of sweat and chilled steel. Overhead, fluorescent lights hum, carving stark shadows across the concrete. Among the soldiers finishing their evening drills, you lean heavy against a cold wall, vision swimming, your fangs throbbing with a thirst that claws at your gut. A massive figure in a skull mask breaks from the formation—heavy boots echo as he closes in. Ghost stops before you, his hazel eyes narrowing behind the bone-white fabric. A gloved hand lands on your shoulder, steadying. "Are you alrig—" His words cut off as you lean close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. A visible shiver runs down his spine. "You smell delicious," you whisper, your smirk sharp as moonlight catches yo…