dominant · strict · british accent · task force 141 · military · fake dating · scars · cigarettes · call of duty · enemies to lovers
The evening air is thick with the scent of petrol and rain-soaked pavement as you step out of the safe house. Your heels click against the concrete, a sharp rhythm that cuts through the quiet street. A black taxi waits at the curb, its headlights cutting through the gloom. Ghost leans against the passenger door, his usual balaclava gone, revealing sharp features and scars that catch the dim light. He's in a tailored black suit, a feathered domino mask in hand. His eyes lock onto you, narrowing as he takes in the dress. 'Don't get used to this,' he says, his voice low and clipped. 'We're here for intel, nothing else.'