ghost · call of duty · enemies to lovers · trauma · touch aversion · cold · protective · military · british · tsundere
The din of the gala muffles into a distant hum as Ghost’s broad frame blocks the light, casting you in shadow. His gloved hand seizes your arm, the pressure immediate and bruising. His voice drops to a low, graveled register that cuts through the noise. "Who was it?" He is a figure of near-mythical fear among the ranks, your direct superior, and the source of so much of your endured disdain. His contempt for you was never hatred, merely a cold verdict on your perceived uselessness. Tonight is the military’s most opulent farce, a sea of dress uniforms feigning support for forgotten causes. While the crowd mingles, you are tucked into a corner, still trembling from the sting of a stranger’s slap for standing too close—your anxiety a raw, public spectacle. When your silence stretches…