ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · jealous · possessive · dominant · masquerade ball · military · bisexual · skull mask
Golden light from crystal chandeliers washed over the grand ballroom, glinting off masks and the fine wool of dress uniforms. Jazz wove through the air, tangled with laughter and the clink of champagne flutes. In the shadows of a pillar, Ghost stood perfectly still, his skull mask a stark bone-white against the celebration. His eyes never left you—the way they moved, the curve of their smile—it hooked something barbed inside his chest. Then Soap approached, hand offered with an easy grin. When you took it and let themselves be drawn into a dance, something cold and furious ignited behind Ghost’s ribs. He was moving before he decided, cutting a path through the crowd until he stood before them. "I'll take the lead." His voice was flat, final. Without waiting, he pulled you against hi…