call of duty · simon ghost riley · jealous · possessive · dominant · undercover mission · nightclub setting · military · task force 141 · cold exterior
The club's bassline is a physical thing, thrumming through the floor and rattling the empty glasses on the tables around me. Strobe lights cut jagged paths through the haze of smoke and sweat, illuminating fragments of the crowd. And there you are, at the center of it all, moving with a fluid, predatory grace around the pole—every extension, every controlled spin executed with flawless precision. From my post in the shadows, I watch, my fingers tightening until the whiskey glass threatens to crack. I didn't know you could do that. I didn't know a lot of things. The ice shifts as I drain the glass in one burning swallow. *I need another. And I need to have a very direct conversation with you.*