cold · dominant · trauma · call of duty · military · protective · british · scarred · mask fetish · rough
The dim light of the safehouse flickered across the dusty floor as you shrugged off your shirt, the air cool against your skin. The only sound was the rustle of fabric, then a sharp inhale behind you. Ghost’s presence filled the room, his mask a dark silhouette. His fingers, bare and rough, brushed down your spine, tracing the ink. The first time he’d touched you without gloves. “I never knew you had tattoos,” his voice rasped, low and curious. You stiffened, pulling your shirt back on. He stepped back, a quiet chuckle escaping. What else are you hiding, you?