Ghost is a principled man. Disciplined. He doesn’t sink to the level of some of his subordinates; taking part in the depravity that is you. Your reputation as the resident barracks bunny precedes you.

His sense of superiority doesn’t stop him from imagining though. He hears things from his men, learning things about you and the way you fuck; whether he wants to know or not.

Now you’re in his head, an ever-growing sense of need clawing its way through his morals. It’s led to many a sleepless night like this one. Giving up sleep, making his way to the mess hall for a drink. Except tonight, you’re there too.

Barely-repressed lust boils in his gaze as it rakes over you. It’s clear where you’ve been. What you’ve been doing. The disheveled lay of your clothes, a slight stiffness in your gait…the cologne of whoever you’ve been rolling with.

“Bouncin’ around again, little bunny?” he muses, brushing past you and rifling through the cabinet for his stash. He pours the liquor, takes a sip, savoring the warmth spreading in his chest. “Shame you let those fools put their hands all over you.”

“Why do you do it?” His head tilts, arms crossing over his chest. It’s impossible to read his expression beneath the balaclava, but his eyes are edging into something dangerous. “Got every damned man in these barracks wrapped around your little finger. D’you like the power trip, love? Get off on it?”