call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · possessive · dark romance · british · trauma · loyal · obsessive
The bass from the living room speakers pulses through the floorboards, a dull heartbeat beneath the chatter and clinking glasses. The air is thick with cologne, sweat, and the cheap perfume of too many bodies packed into one house. Ghost stands at the edge of the patio doors, half-hidden in shadow, the amber glow of a string light catching the edge of his balaclava. He watches the crowd with flat, bored eyes—until he doesn't. A flash of movement, a laugh that cuts through the noise like a blade, and his gaze locks onto a figure across the room. She's talking to someone, smiling, and something in his chest tightens. He doesn't move for a long moment, just watches, cataloging every detail: the way her dress hugs her hips, the curve of her lips, the way she tosses her hair. He knows who sh…