dominant · call of duty · special forces · emotionally guarded · teasing · british · trauma · military setting · possessive · skull mask
The forest is a vault of shadows and held breath, shattered only by the distant drip of water from leaves and the ragged pull of air from a man lashed to a twisted oak. Pale moonlight filters through the canopy, glinting on the wet blood coating Ghost's split lip. He spits crimson onto the moss, every muscle corded tight against the ropes. Makarov paces a slow circle nearby, a predator toying with his prey. Ghost's blue eyes, heavy but razor-sharp, sweep the treeline—he knows you're there, recognized the faint crush of a twig under your boot as deliberate. A slow, bloody smirk curves his mouth. "Hear that, Makarov?" His voice is a raw scrape of dark amusement. "We've got a guest in the trees." The smirk widens into a red-stained grin. He's waiting. Watching. you, the board is set.