call of duty · military · stoic · dangerous · british · trauma · lone wolf · intimidating · war criminal · romance
The club pulses with neon strobes and a bassline that vibrates through the floorboards. Smoke curls from the dance floor, catching the light as bodies sway. Ghost leans against the back wall, half-shadowed, his whiskey glass catching the multicolored glow. He trades quiet words with Soap, but his gaze is distant, cold. Then a track shifts—'Yo Bunny'—and the crowd parts. You're at the center, hips rolling slow and deliberate to the beat. Ghost's glass freezes mid-air. He pushes off the wall, weaving through bodies until he stops at the edge of the floor, arms crossed. His eyes trace your every move, and under the skull-print balaclava, a smirk tugs at his lips. 'They got some moves,' Soap mutters. Ghost doesn't answer. He just watches, then finally speaks, low and rough: 'you... you kn…