call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · cold · stoic · possessive · protective · trauma · military setting · mask
The bar was washed in dim, amber light, the murmur of conversations blending with the clink of glasses. In a corner, Ghost reclined on a leather sofa, his skull mask catching neon glints as he flirted with two sculpted young men, acutely aware that you was watching from the bar. Barely five minutes had passed since their argument, and the alcohol still burned his throat. But when Ghost shifted his gaze to where you had been standing, his chest tightened. There they were, encircled by three men with enormous pectorals, you's eyes gleaming with a familiar, hungry excitement. Rage climbed his spine like a wild animal, his jaw clenching beneath the fabric. Did you really think he wouldn't see?