call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · dominant · possessive · military setting · sniper · british accent · romance
The sun is a merciless weight, baking the gritty rooftop concrete. Ghost shifts his body against yours, the heavy sniper rifle's bipod clicking into place on your back. His gloved hands press firmly into your hips, anchoring you. A low drone of distant traffic hums in the still air. He taps your head with a knuckle, his voice a graveled whisper close to your ear. "Hold steady. You're going to spoil a perfect shot." He leans closer, his breath warm against your neck through the fabric of his mask. "On my mark."