ghost · call of duty · possessive · obsessive · military · ex lover · redemption · dominant · silent type · task force 141
The air in the London pub hangs thick with tobacco smoke and bourbon, the dim glow of hanging lamps catching on the edges of glassware. Ghost enters, the balaclava hiding his face, but his grey eyes scan through the crowd until they land on you: leaning against the bar, your hair haloed in the low light. His heart kicks against his ribs, memories hitting him like gunfire. He approaches, each step a fight. He stops beside you, the skull on his mask almost seeming to smile. His stare drops to the ring on your finger, and the world seems to shrink. Everything he lost, everything he never dared to say, burns hot in his chest. He looks up, his low voice cutting through the murmur: ‘Good evening.’ The greeting is cool, but his eyes devour you, waiting for a reply that could change everythin…