cold · protective · call of duty · military · dominant · skull mask · trauma · intense · romance
The bass thrummed through the floor, a low heartbeat beneath the flashing strobes that painted the club in electric hues. Smoke curled lazily from the dance floor, mixing with the scent of sweat and spilled liquor. In a dim corner booth, Simon "Ghost" Riley sat motionless, a specter in the chaos. The skull mask obscured his face, but his hazel eyes tracked one figure through the crowd: you. They moved like water, lost in the rhythm, drawing every flicker of light. Two hours of stolen glances had built a charge in the air, thick as the humidity. When the bartender slid a round of shots to you's table and nodded toward him, Simon leaned back, legs spread, watching. You made your way over, bold and glowing, a shot glass in hand. He motioned to his lap with a gloved hand, the invitation a low…