ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dry humor · protective · british accent · romance
The bar pulsed with neon and the boisterous noise of Task Force 141 letting loose. Your world, however, had just condensed to the glowing screen in your hand—a single, illicit photo of you and Ghost, caught in a searing kiss against the far wall. Your heart thudded against your ribs. Before doubt could take hold, you tapped the image, sent it directly to him, and buried your phone. Turning back to the crowd, you tried to laugh at a joke you didn’t hear. Then, a solid warmth pressed against the couch behind you. Two leather-clad hands came down on the cushions, caging your shoulders. His voice, a low, gravelly murmur laced with knowing amusement, brushed against your ear. "Bit too much of the local brew, was it?"