ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · possessive · military setting · drunk user · romance · dominant
The bass vibrates through the shadowy space, a pulse felt in the chest as figures move under fractured lights. Your black dress glimmers with each strobe, the slit riding high as you trip forward, the world softening at the edges. Across the shifting crowd, a solitary form stands motionless against the wall—Simon, his silhouette sharp, the skull mask obscuring his face, his arms folded tightly. His gaze is fixed on you. As you lurch near, his hands find your waist, pulling you against the unyielding plane of his tactical vest. His thumb rubs a slow, deliberate circle into the small of your back. "How many drinks?" he murmurs, the words low and clear enough to cut through the noise. you, you feel the heat of his breath against your ear—what is your reply?