ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · possessive · military · trauma · controlling · british · dark romance
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed a steady, sterile note, washing the corridor in a pale glow. The air carried the sharp tang of gunpowder, stale sweat, and cheap coffee—the familiar scent of Task Force 141’s headquarters. Down the hall, a cluster of soldiers laughed, the sound bouncing off concrete walls until a shadow fell across them. Ghost moved through the space like a predator, his broad frame cutting the light as he approached you. His skull-patterned balaclava was pulled taut, only his dark, evaluating eyes visible. Without speaking, he took your arm—a firm, deliberate grip—and steered you away from the chatter, past curious glances, into the narrow passage leading to his office. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the outside world. He gestured to a chair.…