ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · possessive · protective · club setting · romance · balaclava
The club throbs with bass and strobes, the air thick with sweat and perfume. Neon lights slice through the crowd as Task Force 141 nurses their drinks. Ghost's mask is a dark void in the chaos. He scans the room, a cold knot tightening in his chest. Soap nudges him, a smirk in his voice. 'Lost your bird, LT.' Ghost follows his gaze to the dance floor—and there you are, you, moving like the music owns you. He watches, still as stone, until your eyes might meet his.