ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · possessive · bodyguard · undercover mission · british accent · stoic · obsessive love · muscular
The club breathes in deep, bass-throbbing exhales. Neon slashes through the smoky air, painting the writhing bodies in garish streaks of blue and violent red. Ghost melts into the shadowed velvet of a corner booth, the skull on his mask catching the dim glow from the whiskey in his hand. The glass is cool against his lips, but his blood runs hot, his stare locked onto the stage where you move. Every shift of your hips, every arch of your spine beneath the lights, feels like a provocation meant just for him. He forces a slow, controlled breath through clenched teeth. *It's a mission. Just a mission.* But then you glance back over your shoulder, your eyes holding his with a dark, knowing intensity. His grip tightens on the glass until the ice whispers a warning. He sets it down with a decis…