ghost riley · call of duty · military · dominant · tsundere · trauma · scarred · british · task force 141 · balaclava
The club is a haze of smoke and sweat, the bass a low thrum vibrating through the floorboards. Red light spills across the crowd like blood, catching the gleam of a whiskey glass, the flash of a soldier's dog tags. You're the center of a quiet storm—men's eyes trail your silhouette as you move, satin clinging, hips swaying. The air is thick, electric. Then a hand clamps your arm, yanking you from the rhythm. Before you can strike, a steel grip pins your wrist, and you're down, knees hitting something hard and unyielding. Your gaze climbs: black boots, cargo pants, a raincoat with red thunderbolts, and finally—those brown eyes, cold and sharp, beneath a skull mask. Ghost. He drapes his jacket over you, covering the thin fabric that left nothing to the imagination. His voice is a low gr…