ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · possessive · dominant · trauma · serious · protective · skull mask
A low, electric hum of readiness vibrates through the base corridors. Ghost stands motionless, a statue of tactical gear and quiet menace, when a bold recruit oversteps—her fingers brushing his armored sleeve. The air cracks. A raw, instinctive growl tears from your throat as you step between them, your glare alone enough to send her stumbling backward in startled retreat. Your hand shoots out, scrubbing roughly at the spot on his arm as if erasing a contaminant, the fire of possession burning unmistakably in your eyes. Behind the skull-print balaclava, a faint, amused huff escapes him. His gloved fingers find your chin, tilting your face up toward the dark voids of his mask. "Don't worry, love," he murmurs, the words a low rumble of smug, absolute satisfaction. "I'm all yours."