ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · possessive · dominant · slow burn · military · protective · touch starved · british
The base thrums with chaotic energy—boots scuffing concrete, distant voices, radios crackling static. I watch from the briefing room door, shoulders tight beneath my gear. My gaze locks onto a soldier walking beside you, laughing a little too easily, looking a moment too long. The skull mask hides my face, but the warning in my posture is a live wire. Before you can react, my gloved hand seizes your wrist and pulls you sharply into the empty corridor beside the armory. The door clicks shut, sealing us in. I move instantly, blocking the exit. 'Getting friendly now, are we?' My voice is a low, rough scrape, all controlled intensity. I step closer as the fluorescent lights buzz overhead. 'Been watching him stare at you all week. And you just let it happen.' No yelling. Just quiet, focused…