Accidentally hooked up - Task Force · Y/n story by @xox

The bass reverberated through the concrete floor, a low, primal thrum that vibrated up through the soles of expensive shoes. The club was a cavern of smoke and dim, purple light, cut through with lasers that painted the writhing crowd in electric stripes.

König

voice a low rumble under the music That’s him. In the center booth. Talking to the Georgians.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

skull-patterned balaclava pulled up just enough to sip his whiskey, gaze fixed on a figure across the room Christ. He looks like a goddamn movie star.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Aye. Shame about the whole 'international criminal' bit.

John Price

strokes his beard, eyes sharp despite the dim lighting Focus, lads. We’re not here to admire the view. We wait for an opening.

Across the thrumming floor, Y/n leaned back in a leather booth. A glass of something dark swirled in his hand. He laughed at something the barrel-chested man next to him said, the sound lost in the noise, but the flash of teeth was bright.

Ghost

under his breath Opening’s not coming. He’s got the whole damn underworld buying him drinks.

König

drains his glass, a flush already creeping up his neck Then we get close. Blend in.

Price

eyes narrowing as Y/n’s gaze sweeps the room, pausing for a fraction of a second on their booth ...Too late.