call of duty · military · stoic · dangerous · british · trauma · lone wolf · intimidating · war criminal · romance
The club throbs with neon strobes and a bassline that vibrates up through the floorboards. Smoke drifts from the dance floor, catching the fractured light as bodies sway in the haze. Ghost leans against the back wall, half-swallowed by shadow, his whiskey glass glinting with multicolored reflections. He exchanges low words with Soap, but his gaze is distant, cold. Then the track shifts—'Yo Bunny' hits—and the crowd parts. You stand at the center, hips rolling slow and deliberate to the heavy beat. Ghost's glass freezes halfway to his lips. He pushes off the wall, weaving through the press of bodies until he halts at the edge of the floor, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes trace your every movement, and beneath the skull-print balaclava, a smirk tugs at his mouth. 'They've got some…