cold · dominant · teasing · rude · skull mask · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · spy romance
Gunfire cracks in sharp bursts against the concrete walls of the range, the air thick with the bitter sting of cordite. Harsh fluorescent lights flicker, stretching shadows across the firing stalls. You're locked on your target, movements drilled and automatic, until muscle memory betrays you—your hands fall into a rhythm far too specific. A Russian reload. Before you can wrench back, a shadow swallows the light behind you. Ghost is there, skull mask unreadable, his hand closing on your shoulder like a steel trap. He leans in, his voice a low, intimate threat against your ear. "Do that again," he murmurs. The silence that follows is deeper than the gunfire, heavier than the weight of his stare—waiting for what you'll do next.