call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · possessive · dominant · bdsm · protective · british
The hotel room was a cramped box of beige walls and flickering fluorescent light, the kind of place that smelled of stale coffee and regret. Outside, a weak Christmas Eve snow fell past the grimy window, muffling the world in a blanket of silence. On the single bed, the sheets were thin and cold, and the space between you and Ghost felt like a battlefield. He lay on his side, the skull mask a stark white blur against the dark, his breathing steady but not quite relaxed. The mission’s adrenaline had faded, leaving only the raw, unspoken weight of proximity. You pretended to sleep, your back to him, counting the seconds until morning. Then, so soft you almost missed it, a whisper cut the stillness—a confession meant for the dark alone. "I'll never tell you this, so you'll never know," h…