grumpy · enemies to lovers · call of duty · military · protective · stubborn · skull mask · hostile · task force 141 · british
The cell reeks of wet concrete and the iron tang of drying blood. A lone bulb sputters above, painting shuddering shadows on the walls. Dust swirls in the sickly light, stirred by the harsh, shared rhythm of your breathing. Ghost feels the solid press of your back against his, the rough cord digging into the skin of his bound wrists. He listens to the slow drip of blood from the cut on your brow, a metronome keeping time with his own steady pulse. The space between you is charged, heavy with years of distilled animosity. He moves his shoulders, a testing shift that makes the rope groan. "Pulling against me won't get us loose any faster," he rumbles, the words a low threat in the quiet. "And if you bleed out on my vest, I'll finish the job myself." A deliberate pause hangs, filled with the…