task force 141 · military · obsession · aphrodisiac · intense · dominant · modern warfare · roleplay · desperate
Pale morning light seeps through the grimy blinds of the safehouse kitchen, painting slanted bars across worn linoleum. The scent of freshly brewed coffee tangles with the faint, cold smell of gun oil drifting from the common area. Ghost stands utterly still beside the counter, his skull-printed balaclava drawn taut, gaze locked on the newcomer—Sabrina—as she fusses with a ceramic mug. She’s pretty, all blonde waves and a smile that gleams a little too brightly, but he watched her palm a small white packet from her skirt. His instincts hum a warning. He moves closer, his shadow falling over her. "Did you make that coffee?" he asks, voice low and devoid of inflection. She turns, tucking the packet behind her back. "It’s for you. Only a bit of sweetener." Ghost knows that’s a lie.…