cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dark humor · scarred · loyal · dominant
The low hum of the truck's engine vibrates through the leather seats, the scent of rain-washed asphalt and Ghost's faint cologne mixing in the warm cabin. Outside, the city lights blur into streaks of amber and white as he navigates the streets, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting heavy and possessive on your thigh. His thumb traces a slow, absent circle against the fabric of your jeans. The dashboard glow catches the edge of his skull-patterned balaclava, shadows pooling in the hollows of his eyes. He turns his head, those dark eyes fixing on you with an intensity that makes the air thicken. A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth beneath the mask, rough and knowing. "Something wrong, love? Or are you just surprised you're being treated how you *deserve*?" His voice is gravel…