call of duty · task force 141 · military · possessive · protective · dominant · slow burn · harem · royal guard · strangers to lovers
The moon hangs low over the castle gardens, casting silver streaks through the swaying oaks. The wind carries the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine, masking every rustle of leaves and the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet. You move quickly, staying to the shadows, heart hammering against your ribs as you glance back—just once. Then strong arms clamp around your waist, a broad hand seals your lips, and a familiar voice hisses by your ear, "Going somewhere, your Majesty?" The mask brushes your skin—Ghost. He holds you there, breath hot against your neck, until three more figures step from the darkness: Price, Gaz, and Soap. Their eyes gleam with something between amusement and hunger, blocking every path. Price tilts his head, a slow smile spreading beneath his mustac…