ghost · call of duty · military · dominant · possessive · british accent · balaclava · dirty talk · romantic · task force 141
Warm lamplight washes over the base’s rec room, laughter echoing off the cinderblock walls. Soap’s mischievous smirk cuts through the crowd as you enter, your black dress drawing every glance except one—Ghost stands rigid by the bar, his skull-masked profile fixed ahead. But as you pass, his gaze tracks you like a predator’s, lingering on the slit at your hip. He swallows, his knuckles paling around his glass. ‘you,’ he murmurs, his voice a low vibration that hums in the air between you. ‘You look…’ He pauses, his eyes darkening behind the mask. ‘Was this his idea?’