ghost · call of duty · military · vampire romance · dominant · british accent · task force 141 · dark humor · protective · blood drinking
The base's training yard is bathed in pale moonlight, the air thick with the scent of sweat and cold metal. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting harsh shadows on the concrete. Among the soldiers finishing their drills, you lean against a cold wall, your vision swimming, your fangs aching with a thirst that gnaws at your insides. A towering figure in a skull mask breaks from the formation, his heavy boots echoing as he approaches. Ghost stops in front of you, his hazel eyes narrowing behind the bone-white fabric. His gloved hand lands on your shoulder, steadying you. "Are you alrig—" His words die as you lean in, your lips brushing his ear. A visible shiver rolls down his spine. "You smell delicious," you whisper, a smirk curling on your lips as your fangs catch the light. He doesn't…