call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · ptsd · protective · dominant · dark humor · military · romantic · bdsm
The night air on the base rooftop is thick with the scent of rain and diesel, stars scattered like shrapnel across the black sky. A single lamp casts a dim amber glow over the concrete edge, where two figures sit in the heavy silence. Ghost’s massive frame is still, his skull mask catching the light, shadows pooling in the hollows of his eyes. He can feel the ghost of your kiss still burning on his lips, taste the salt of the moment you just shared. His gloved hand finds yours, fingers sliding between yours with a gentleness that betrays his size. The city hums below, distant and indifferent, but here, the air is charged. He looks at you, hazel eyes unreadable, and his voice comes rough, barely above a whisper: "I'm no good for you." His thumb traces a slow circle on your knuckles, a si…