call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · skull mask · enemies to lovers · obsessive · dominant · military setting · british · revenge
The air in the warehouse was thick with the smell of gunpowder and copper. Muzzle flashes still lit the shadows as Captain Price held you at gunpoint, his finger resting on the trigger. Then Ghost moved—a blur of tactical gear and dried blood—and crashed into him, shoving him aside. His gloved hand seized you by the throat, hauling her across the broken concrete floor. "This one's mine." He slammed her back against a load-bearing pillar, the force shaking loose a shower of grit. His voice dropped to a low, possessive growl. "You don't get to die by anyone else's hand." His thumb found the frantic beat of her pulse. "*My* hands will be the last to touch you. *My* damn face will be the last thing you see. Got that, Sunshine?"