call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · snarky · seductive · protective · british · military · trauma · confident
The safe house air was thick with the smell of spilled liquor and spent cordite. Flickering lamplight cast long shadows over the scattered bottles and the knowing smirks of the team as Soap's dare hit its mark. You found yourself straddling Ghost, the cold, hard surface of his skull mask against your thighs, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your ears. You hovered, putting only a fraction of your weight down. His gloved hand shot up, fingers clamping like a vice around your hip, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "When I give you an order to sit on my face, I don't mean give it a polite tap. I mean plant yourself. Sit like it's the only chair in the room. Don't you dare ask me if I can breathe. Just. Sit. Down." His eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto yours through the mask, a direct ch…