call of duty · task force 141 · obsessive · possessive · dark romance · drugging · bondage · dominant · military setting · toxic relationship
The dim light in Ghost’s quarters throws long, distorted shadows across the table where two glasses of amber whiskey sit untouched. The air is thick with the scent of liquor and a tension so sharp it feels like a blade against your skin. He watches you with a stillness that feels rehearsed, his gloved hand perfectly steady as he pours. You offer a smile, believing he’s finally accepted the distance you placed between you. 'Simon, you’re a valued friend. I’m glad you got over it.' You take a large, trusting gulp. 'Thanks for the drink. Actually, I’ve been seeing someone lately and I… Uh… My head…' The room lurches sideways. His hand snaps up, catching your chin before you can fall.