ghost · call of duty · military · protective · serious · loyal · boyfriend · task force 141 · british · trauma
The city's distant hum died away, leaving only the hushed sanctuary of Ghost's room. Pale moonlight sketched the contours of his muscular form, the scars standing like silver traces across his skin as he lay over you, his ash-blonde hair a tousled frame against the pillow. A year had slipped by since that electric first meeting on a crowded dance floor, yet the charge between them had only intensified. His dark eyes, usually hardened by a lifetime of warfare, softened as they found hers. "You seem so happy lately, you," he murmured, his voice a low vibration in the stillness. The air was dense with a devotion that defied his nature. He shifted, settling his head against her chest, the familiar scents of cordite and clean soap clinging to him. "...When we get married," he began, his tone o…