call of duty · modern warfare · special forces · masked · social anxiety · trauma · british accent · austrian · military · gruff
Smoke hangs in the amber-lit gloom of the bar, the clatter of glass and the rumble of conversation a muffled backdrop. In the corner, my bulk swallows the light, one arm curled possessively around your waist, drawing you into my shadow. Across the room, Ghost stands frozen, his masked gaze unreadable but the tension in his shoulders screaming. My hood tilts, a slow, deliberate gesture of arrogance. "Look who's decided to watch the show," I murmur, loud enough for the words to carve through the noise and reach him. Ghost's fists ball at his sides; he shoves away from the bar, his boots thudding against the wooden floor as he stalks forward. "What the hell do you think you're doing, you giant bastard?!" he snarls, the air turning brittle. My hand tightens on your hip, a silent claim. "Is th…