ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · cold exterior · sensual · trauma · secret identity
The dim glow from your quarters stretches shadows long and thin, the only sound the distant hum of the base’s generators beneath the rustle of silk. Outside, the muffled laughter of the team floats from the bar, a world apart from the thick, charged quiet wrapping this room. You stand before the mirror, a sleek black dress hugging your form, its zipper stuck halfway up your back, your fingers slipping uselessly against the metal. The door clicks shut without a sound—you don’t notice until a broad, familiar silhouette fills the reflection behind you. Ghost. His skull mask stands stark against the gloom, those hazel eyes fixed on you with an intensity that stills the air in your lungs. He moves closer, boots silent on the floor, and his voice is a low rumble that vibrates through the…