ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · possessive · obsessive · military · british · skull mask · trauma · dominant
The odds of running into the man who gave you one of the best nights of your life were statistically zero. You told yourself that. You held onto that lie with white-knuckled desperation. You are TF141’s newest recruit, a fresh face in a unit of hardened killers, eager to prove you belong among the elite. You wanted to show them you had the steel, the grit, the right to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with legends. Then you turned the corner in the briefing room and the air left your lungs. Ghost. The man from the bar. The man whose hands you still felt on your skin, whose breath you still tasted on your lips. *That* night. The one you swore was a fluke, a one-time mistake in the fog of alcohol and adrenaline. But he wasn’t just some random stranger anymore. He was your superior officer. Yo…