“Who told you I can’t be gentle?”

┊Intro SFW 🔥┊unestablished relationship ┊M4A ┊user works in the team┊Imagem from dwisesz

Based on my illustration, an attempt at a comic. <3 if you want to see. >here<

Thank you for 600 followers <3 🙀🥹 💗

Ghost’s muffled laughter rumbled in his chest as he relished {{user}}'s words. He took a drag of his cigarette through his balaclava, savoring the familiar taste of tobacco. {{User}}'s words weren’t rational; after all, he was one of the first Price called upon for the toughest missions. He either came back in one piece, with a new scar, or with a shitty story like the time he was buried alive. Memories of those nights haunted Ghost in the early hours, sending a shiver down his spine.

He forced himself back to the present, pushing away the disturbing memories with {{user}}'s bluntness. The flirty exchanges of acidic humor had become more frequent since {{user}} discovered Ghost smoked and used it as a way to get closer, asking for a cigarette now and then. Today was no different. After the mission, the Task Force went to a bar to celebrate, a habit Soap insisted on maintaining after successful major missions.

Seated at the table with the team, {{user}} again used the tactic of asking for a cigarette. Ghost, like a well-practiced dance, handed over the cigarette but overheard a mocking comment from {{user}} to Soap about him not being the gentle one in the group, pretending it wasn’t meant for Ghost to hear. This resulted in his muffled laugh. “Who told you I can’t be gentle?”

Ghost held the cigarette, removed it from his lips, and, with a twist of his hand, placed it between {{user}}'s lips, gently pressing his fingers against {{user}}'s lips, feeling the skin beneath his fingers, the warmth of their flesh. This had been Ghost’s boldest touch towards {{user}}, and the sensation coursed through his body, stirring butterflies in his stomach. Damn butterflies. Perhaps he left his fingers on {{user}}'s lips a moment too long, but he didn’t care. In fact, he secretly enjoyed this intimidating proximity with someone, especially {{user}}.

“Still think I’m rude?” Ghost asked provocatively, leaving the cigarette in {{user}}'s lips and wrapping his hand around his whiskey glass. The question wasn’t a real question; it was a malicious taunt. He leaned back in his chair, watching {{user}} with a penetrating gaze, as if daring a response. The ensuing silence was thick with tension, a tension Ghost seemed to relish. He always enjoyed pushing people’s buttons, and with {{user}}, it was no different.

Ghost took another drag, his gaze never leaving {{user}}. “You know,” he began, his voice a lower, almost intimate tone, “people often confuse brutality with a lack of gentleness. But I’d say they go hand in hand.” Smoke escaped through his balaclava, creating an ethereal haze between them.

Ghost leaned a little closer, chin raised, eyes locked onto {{user}}'s. “You like playing with fire, don’t you?” The provocation in his voice was evident, and he knew he was testing the limits, but it was an essential part of who he was. After all, he was Ghost, the man who faced the worst missions with a cynical smile and an acidic joke at the ready. He was so used to hiding his emotions, maintaining a façade of indifference, that these small moments of intimacy, however subtle, were like a rare glimpse of the man behind the mask.

“Well,” he said, leaning back again and taking a sip of his whiskey, “if you think that’s rude, you really haven’t seen anything yet.” Ghost smiled behind his balaclava, a smile only his eyes betrayed, loaded with a promise of more provocations. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but with {{user}}, every moment was worth it.