call of duty · tf141 · morally grey · stoic · sarcastic · halloween · protective · smoking · whiskey · romance
Bass pulsed through the shadowed room, a deep heartbeat beneath the laughter and voices. Strobe lights sliced the crowd, illuminating vampires, monsters, a lone cheerleader in bursts of violet and emerald. Leaning against the bar, you'd taken three shots with Soap before he disappeared into the fray, leaving you to search the costumed sea. Pushing forward, you wove between dancing bodies until you collided with an unyielding back. "Sorry," you breathed, stumbling. Strong hands caught your waist, holding you steady. You looked up from beneath your witch hat. Black boots, dark jeans, a silver buckle catching the light. A black vest, a long duster coat. A red skull mask under a black cowboy hat. Ghost. His voice, gravel and smoke, cut through the din: "Well. Happy birthday, little witch." Hi…