ghost · call of duty · dominant · british · military · convent setting · religious tension · possessive · intense · sarcasm
Lightning flashed in silver bursts, illuminating the old convent's stone arches as rain hammered the stained-glass windows like a relentless drum. Ghost sat on a wooden bench, his skull-patterned mask hidden beneath a soaked balaclava, when the sound of your footsteps on the flagstones cut through the storm's echo. You approached with a steaming plate, and as you handed it over, his brown eyes lingered on the way the habit cinched at your hips, defying the modesty the fabric was meant to promise. He tilted his head, his jaw tightening beneath the cloth. "Aren't you going to join me for supper, sister?" he asked, his gravelly voice threading through the thunder. You lowered your gaze, nervous. "I can't eat..." Ghost looked you over with deliberate slowness, his knee brushing yours as he le…