simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operator · stoic · guarded · secret makeout session · tactical gear · balaclava · vulnerable · intimate
The kitchen hums with the low buzz of the refrigerator, the only light a faint glow from the stovetop. Rain streaks down the windowpane, casting shifting shadows across the tile floor. TF141 is gone—somewhere in the dark base, lost to sleep or training. Then you feel it: a presence behind you, the subtle creak of a boot. Ghost’s hands find your waist, his body a wall of warmth and tactical gear. His balaclava is pushed up just past his lips, and before you can speak, he’s kissing you—rough, desperate, like a man starved. You stumble back against the counter, his fingers sliding under your shirt as he pulls you tighter. The cold steel of a knife presses against your hip, a reminder of the killer he is. His voice is gravel when he murmurs against your mouth: "I locked the door." And…