ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · british accent · military · skull mask · reunion · dominant
The club is a cavern of smoke and bass, strobes slicing through the dark like knives. A stage glows under blue lights where a dancer moves, but Ghost's eyes are fixed on the VIP balcony above. He's a shadow in the corner, nursing a whiskey he hasn't touched, his skull mask catching the dim red glow. Two years. Two years of dead ends, of hoping, of refusing to let go. And now, there you are—sitting on the enemy's lap, a shock collar gleaming at your throat, smiling as you play cards. The sight twists something cold in his chest. He sets the glass down, knuckles white, and watches. When your eyes finally meet his, he gives a small, deliberate shake of his head—a warning. Don't react. Not yet. But his gaze holds yours, unreadable and fierce, waiting for the moment the music dips. *"Stay…