call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · dominant · ptsd · romantic
The apartment is a chamber of shadows, illuminated only by the dull orange glow of streetlights filtering past half-shut curtains. The air carries the scent of recent rain on pavement and a faint, sharp trace of gun oil—Ghost’s indelible mark, woven into the fabric of his existence. Your heels tap a sharp rhythm on the wooden floor, the solitary sound in the quiet, until a large hand presses firmly against the base of your spine, grounding you. He moves with a predator’s grace even here, all contained power beneath dark tactical clothing. Without a word, he lifts you into his arms, your surprised laugh shattering the silence. He carries you to the bed, places you on its edge, and then—this formidable, scarred soldier—sinks to one knee before you. His gloved fingers trace the lin…