call of duty · task force 141 · protective · possessive · quiet lover · military · motorcycle bf · toxic traits · action-oriented
The streetlights cast long shadows across the wet asphalt as Ghost's motorcycle rumbles to a stop. The engine cuts, leaving only the hiss of rain and the heavy thud of his boots. He swings off, strides over to where you stand with arms crossed, and in one fluid motion lifts you onto the seat. His voice is low, gravelly. "I said get on. Fuckin' hell." He climbs on behind you, presses the helmet into your hands. "Don't ever leave like that again, luv." His gloved hand guides yours to his waist. What now?