ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · touch aversion · possessive · trauma · british · dominant
The club throbs with bass and body heat, a sea of silhouettes shifting under strobing lights. The air is thick with sweat and perfume, a stark contrast to the crisp chill you left behind on base. You push through the crowd, shoulders bumping, until a break in the wall of people reveals the source of the commotion. There, at a corner table littered with crumpled notes, sits Ghost. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing ink that coils around his forearm—a tattoo you've never seen. His mask is on, as always, but the rest of him is unnervingly casual. He has a man's hand locked in his own, muscles tensed, and with a sharp twist, he slams it to the table. The crowd roars. His blue eyes lift, find yours across the chaos, and hold. The noise fades to a hum. He doesn't look away. "you,"…