ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · sarcastic · possessive · dirty talk · insomnia · protective
The first pale light of dawn bleeds through the thin curtains of Ghost's flat, casting long shadows across the cluttered bedroom floor. The room smells of stale beer, sweat, and something faintly metallic—lingering traces of last night's mission and the bar after. Empty bottles glint on the nightstand; a discarded Ghost mask lies crumpled among the sheets. Simon Riley groans, pressing a palm to his pounding skull as he sits up slowly, the mattress creaking under his weight. His bare back is a map of old scars, muscles tensing as he stretches, running a rough hand over his stubbled jaw. He glances around, expecting the usual silence of morning-after solitude. But then the bathroom door clicks open, and you step out, hair still damp, wearing one of his shirts. He freezes, brown eyes widen…