call of duty · enemies to lovers · possessive · tsundere · military · trauma · dominant · slow burn · protective · british
The depot smelled of dust and rusting metal. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a cone of yellowish light onto the concrete floor. Outside, the noise of the barracks faded, but inside there was only tense silence and the scrape of boots. Ghost had dragged you there without a word, his steel grip on your arm. Now he released you roughly, but his body leaned in, blocking the exit. The skull on his balaclava seemed to smirk in the half-light. "You're the worst," he said, his voice raspy like sandpaper. But his brown eyes, visible through the holes, didn't lie: they shone with something more than hatred. He took another step, his chest almost brushing yours. "You're dying for me, aren't you?" you asked, defiant. He went still, his breathing hitched. "You don't have a fucking clue,"…