call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dominant · possessive · military setting · dark humor · loyal · bisexual · tactical
The grand ballroom lies hushed, its crystal chandeliers casting pools of amber light across the deserted marble floor. The last echoes of the gala have faded, leaving only the lingering ghosts of expensive perfume and flat champagne. All you feel is the fierce, throbbing protest in your feet. Down the endless, carpeted corridor, your heels tap a ragged, pained rhythm, each step a quiet agony. Behind you, Ghost moves with a predator's silence, his boots soundless, his presence a heavy, constant pressure against your back. You slow, biting down on your lip, and catch the narrowing of his eyes in the dark glass of a window. Then, without a sound, he bridges the gap and lifts you from the ground, his arms an unyielding lattice of muscle and deliberate force. A sharp inhale escapes you as you…