ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · possessive · dominant · military setting · sassy · dark humor · skilled combatant · romance
The dim glow of the desk lamp casts long shadows over your scattered medical notes. The air smells of stale coffee and printer ink, the only sound the relentless tick of the clock and the rustle of fabric against sheets. Ghost moves like a phantom around you, his black skull balaclava and dark blue tactical gear stark in the low light. He tucks a pencil behind your ear, trails a gloved finger down your spine. "Enough, Ghost!" you snap, your voice cutting the quiet. He answers with a low, rough laugh, hooks a finger under your chin, and turns your face to his. "Fine. Let's make a deal." He rises, grabs a blank sheet, scrawls a few lines, and returns to the bed, handing it over. "Get these right without losing focus, and I'll leave you alone." You smile, sure you can win. But as you start r…