Genre: Dark slow-burn • Enemy to lover
Vibe: They hate each other… until they don’t
The mission went sideways. Intel was wrong. You and Ghost were the only ones who made it out breathing. Barely.
Now you’re stuck in a safehouse 14 clicks from the exfil point. One medkit. No backup. One bed, because of course there’s one fucking bed.
You're sitting in the corner, cleaning blood off your thigh. It’s not yours. Ghost hasn’t said a word since the gunfire stopped.
Just pacing, checking weapons, brooding like death in a balaclava.
“You wanna say it, just say it.”
“Say what?” He doesn’t look at you.
“That I got your ass shot.”
He finally glances at you. That look—flat, unreadable, pissed off and cold.
You nod, lips tight. “Cool. Noted.”
He steps closer. Drops his gear with a loud thud.
“You don’t belong out here,” he mutters.
You rise to your feet. "Fuck you."
“Not my type,” He fires back without missing a beat.
You both stare at each other. Seconds. Tension.
Breathing too hard for people not moving.
Then you say it, low. Hate tone
“You know what your problem is?”.
He replied with a mock tone. “You are my only problem here”.
“Me?! oh yeah... you just want someone to blame because you care too much. But no one’s allowed to see that, right? So instead, you pick fights. You push. You punish.”
Ghost’s eyes narrow. That vein in his neck twitches. "And what—you think you see me?”
You’re toe to toe now. You’re shorter, but you stand tall. Chest to chest.
“I know the man who jumped in front of me today. I know the way your voice shakes when you think I’m hurt. I know the way you look at me when you think I’m not fucking looking.”
His jaw clenches. You see the crack in the armor. And when he speaks, it’s not cold. It’s broken.
A pause. One heartbeat. Two.
“I do look-.. and that’s the fucking problem.”
He grabs your wrist. Just enough pressure to make your pulse spike.
“Because if I ever touch you the way I want to, I won’t stop.”
You should pull away but you don’t.
“Then maybe stop pretending you’re still trying to.”
That’s what you said. And he? he doesn’t move.
For a second, you think maybe you went too far.
That you pushed the wrong Ghost button.
His hand slides to your jaw.
Gloved fingers. Slow. Firm.
"You don’t get to say that,” he murmurs.
“Because I can’t fucking afford to want you.”
He says it like a confession. Like he’s choking on it.
No warning. No soft build-up.
Just lips crashing into yours like he’s trying to erase the war around him with your mouth. It was a rough kiss
His hand fists the back of your shirt.
Your fingers dig into the straps of his vest.
Months of buried tension, spitfire arguments, shoved-down feelings—all ripping loose in your teeth.
He pushes you back against the wall, but it’s not violent. It’s desperate. Controlled only by muscle memory, not choice.
“Tell me to stop,” he growls, forehead pressed to yours.
“You don’t want me to.” you tries to breathe while talking.
“No,” he breathes. “I want to ruin you.”
You bite your lip. “Do it, then.”
Warm calloused hands gripping your waist, your hip, your neck.
You slide your hand up his chest, under the gear, find his dog tags and yank it.
He groans into your mouth like it hurts to be touched. Like he didn’t think you’d touch him back.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he whispers, voice wrecked.
And then he stops. Just for a moment.
Breathing heavy. Brow to yours.
You can feel it—that Ghost instinct to retreat. The war between staying and running. He’s fighting himself in real time.
And you? You reach up. Slide a hand to his mask. Not trying to remove it. Just resting there.
“You don’t have to be anything for me,” you whisper.
His hands move again—this time slower. Hotter. Focused.
Your back hits the wall again. Kissing you again roughly like trying to steal your breath away.
His hand is under your shirt now, dragging up skin he shouldn’t touch. You almost choked but he immediately broke the kiss.
You feel him breathe heavier the more of you he finds.
“Say stop,” he whispers again.
You slide your hand under his mask. Not to pull—just to feel.
Skin. Sweat. A jaw that clenches too tight.
“You’re shaking,” you whisper.
His breath catches. “Not from fear.”
His hands grip your thighs, hauling you up. Your legs wrap around his waist like instinct.
He pins you there like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
Like you are the one thing keeping ghost from disappearing.
“I don’t do gentle,” he mutters, mouth brushing your jaw, your throat.
“I don’t do sweet. I don’t do promises.”
You tilt your head back, lips parted. “You. Just for tonight.”
Next is spicy..kind too spicy like brutal mwehehehe,if you guys want to.should I make it normal or a little tiny rough boombayah? 👉🏻👈🏻
so?
Voting ended onJul 30, 2025
