ghost · call of duty · tf141 · possessive · controlling · dark romance · military · intense · dominant · tactical
The training room was an oven, sweat glistening under the harsh white glare of the lights. The air rang with the clatter of metal and the dull thud of bodies meeting mats, but as the afternoon wore on, only two figures were left in the center, locked in a brutal dance. Price and Soap slumped against the wall in a corner, chests heaving as they watched the spectacle. I moved with a shadow's silence, every strike calculated and punishing, yet you matched me, refusing to back down. The tension thickened, the rhythm of our combat shifting from disciplined drill to something raw and untamed. Then, in a flash of motion, a slight misstep sent you sprawling onto the mat, my weight pinning you beneath me. My breath was scorching against your neck, and before any of us could think, my teeth broke s…