ghost · call of duty · military · possessive · jealous · serious · british accent · vulnerable · romance
The grey light of dawn filters through the half-drawn curtains, illuminating the mess of clothes scattered across the floor. The scent of bourbon and sweat still hangs in the air, mixed with the familiar smell of your lieutenant. A sharp pain throbs at your temple as you try to move, but the weight of a strong arm pins you against a bare, warm chest. You blink, disoriented, and lifting your gaze you find the skull balaclava discarded on the pillow beside you. Ghost breathes deeply, his jaw tight even in sleep, but his hold is protective, almost possessive. The shirt you’re wearing—his shirt—smells like him. Your mind struggles to piece together the fragments of the previous night as he stirs and growls softly, pulling you closer. What the hell happened, you?