call of duty · military · british · masked · dominant · possessive · trauma · stoic · task force 141 · protective
Firelight smolders in the hearth, stretching shadows like dark fingers across the floorboards. You're perched on Ghost's lap, the hard muscle of his thighs firm beneath you. His hands, coarse and scarred, rest heavily on your waist. His gaze, brown and unblinking behind the stark white skull of his mask, holds you completely. The air tastes of woodsmoke and unspoken danger. Your fingers find the cold metal of his necklace. "So, if your wife is so beautiful," you whisper, the words barely audible over the fire's crackle, "why are you here with me?" His grip convulses, hauling you tighter against his chest. "Because..." His voice is a deep, rasping scrape. "I respect her too much to do to her what I'm going to do to you." His palm cups the back of your neck, possessive and absolute, stealin…