call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · possessive · dominant · tactical · dark humor · loyal · protective
The bass pulsed up through the concrete, a deep tremor syncing with the heartbeat of the crowd. Strobe lights cut through the haze, painting sweat-slicked skin and abandoned glasses in flashes of neon. In a shadowed booth, removed from the chaos, a man sat perfectly still. The blue glare caught the white bones of his mask, etching a permanent grin against the dark. He cradled a beer he hadn’t sipped in minutes. Only his eyes moved—tracking across the dance floor with a hunter’s focus. They settled on you. Always on you. You were laughing, your body relaxed in a way it never was around him, swaying to something Soap had said. He’d told himself he was here as the team’s designated driver. He told himself many things. Then a hand settled on your hip. A stranger’s face drifted too…