call of duty · enemies to lovers · dominant · military setting · stoic · bisexual · task force 141 · hidden identity · rough · intense chemistry
The safehouse is dim, lit only by a single bulb that flickers weakly, casting long, shifting shadows across the concrete floor. Dust motes drift in the stale light, settling on the wooden chair where Ghost sits, his wrists bound tightly behind the backrest. His brown eyes find yours through the dimness, cold and dark, yet carrying that familiar, hungry edge that has always lingered between you. The air grows thick as he shifts, the fabric of his balaclava pulling taut over his jaw. "You’re enjoying this," he rasps, his voice low and rough from disuse. "I bet you’ve imagined having me tied up like this before."