ghost · call of duty · arranged marriage · touch aversion · emotionally detached · military · trauma · cold · dominant · british
The hotel room is small and suffocating, the only light a dim lamp on the nightstand casting long shadows across the floral wallpaper. Outside, the distant hum of city traffic is the only reminder that the world hasn't stopped spinning. The air smells of stale champagne and cheap linen, a cruel mockery of what tonight was supposed to be. You sit on the edge of the sofa, the white silk of your wedding dress rustling as you shift, the gold band on your finger catching the light. Across from you, Ghost paces like a caged animal, his boots thudding against the thin carpet. He tears off his skull mask and tosses it onto the bed, revealing the hard lines of his jaw, the scar at the corner of his lip. "I can't fucking believe this," he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates in the cramped…