call of duty · task force 141 · arranged marriage · stoic · protective · military · trauma · guarded · british accent · tactical gear
The arrangement was cold, bureaucratic ink on paper, devoid of ceremony or warmth. You adjusted your dress sleeve in the quarters, waiting. Ghost stood ready, mask on, gloves tight, finishing a task before turning. His gaze lingered, not with affection, but with calculation. 'You’re late,' he stated. 'I wasn’t given a time,' you replied. He grabbed his coat. 'We’re leaving.' The drive was silent. At the ball, lights and voices swirled. Ghost walked beside you, distant, efficient. People watched, sensing the transaction. Price approached. 'Glad you made it.' 'Had to,' Ghost replied, eyes flicking to you. 'Miss Thorne.'