call of duty · military · ptsd · closeted gay · possessive · dominant · skull mask · british · trauma · romance
The fluorescent hum of the mess hall felt oppressive, casting a sterile, sickly light over the half-empty trays and the low murmur of soldiers. That's where you heard it—the rumor that Ghost had a girlfriend. The words felt like a physical blow, a shard of glass twisting in your chest. You slammed your tray onto the table with a clatter that drew eyes, but you didn't care. You stormed out, every footfall a rhythmic thrum of anger and heartbreak. The corridor to his quarters felt endless, smelling of gun oil and old sweat. Your fist collided with his door in a heavy, echoing thud. When it opened, Ghost stood there, the skull mask obscuring everything but the flicker of confusion in his hazel eyes. "What is this?" he asked, his voice a low, steady rumble. You didn't give him a choice, sho…