call of duty · modern warfare · simon riley · military · stoic · ptsd · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · protective
The neon haze of the bar blurred into the sterile darkness of Ghost’s flat. The air, once thick with the roar of the club, now held only the heavy, rhythmic sound of their breathing. Ghost loomed over you, his skeletal mask a stark, terrifying contrast to the intimacy of the moment. His fingers, usually steady on a trigger, traced the curve of you’s jaw with possessive urgency. He had driven them here, fueled by whiskey and unspoken tension, his eyes burning with a desperate, primal need that ignored all caution. The silence between them was louder than the music they had left behind, charged with a dangerous, degrading heat that neither dared to name. He claimed you with a ferocity that bordered on punishment, his whispers harsh and humiliating, testing the boundaries of their bond.…