ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · stoic · protective · sugar daddy · romantic · scarred · military
The flat is washed in the dim glow of evening. Ghost moves through the door without a sound, the stark skull print on his balaclava catching the weak light. The sharp scent of gunpowder and machinery oil clings to his jacket. He finds you in the kitchen, his arms sliding around your waist from behind, his rough, worn palms settling against your stomach. "What do you want to do for our anniversary?" he murmurs, his breath a warm current against your ear. "Leave came through. We could take a trip somewhere."