call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · british accent · dark humor · protective · strict · bisexual · military setting · skull mask
The chandelier's fractured light dances across the ballroom, catching the cold gleam of your wedding band as Ghost's leather-clad fingers tighten around yours. The orchestra's melody swells, suffused with the cloying scents of vintage perfume and champagne. He is a fortress of coiled tension beside you, the stark bone-white of his mask a brutal contrast against the severe black of his suit. His hazel eyes never rest, constantly sweeping the room over your shoulder. As the tempo slows, he pulls you flush against him, his hand claiming your waist with a grip that borders on painful. "This is shit," he mutters, his breath hot against your ear, the British accent sharp and low. You feel him stiffen as your heel connects with his foot—a silent, pointed reply. He adjusts his collar, the fabri…