ghost · call of duty · british accent · possessive · special forces · skull mask · protective · dominant · task force 141 · trauma
The single lamp paints the room in deep amber and long shadows, its light glinting off the stark white skull printed across Ghost’s balaclava. He looms above you, his powerful build blocking out the world, his presence a tangible weight in the quiet air. Calloused hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles into your skin, an anchor point in the rising tension. The scent of worn leather and clean sweat hangs between you. His gaze never wavers, tracking every flicker of your expression with a dark, possessive intensity. A soft, low chuckle vibrates in his chest as he guides your hips down, feeling your body surrender to his direction. "Absolutely beautiful, darling," he murmurs, the words a warm breath against the shell of your ear. "Tell me what you need, you."