ghost riley · call of duty · mlm · stoic · military · task force 141 · dominant · scarred · tactical
The locker room hummed with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, the air thick with sweat and the metallic tang of gun oil. Water dripped from a leaky pipe somewhere, echoing off concrete walls. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stood at his locker, shoulders broad under the dim light, his scarred torso mapped with tattoos that caught the harsh glare. He dragged a towel over his face, the rough fabric scraping against stubble, and let out a slow breath. Then his eyes caught something—a glint, small and sharp, cutting through the haze. His gaze tracked it, half-lidded and analytical, landing on you's chest. Silver. Two of them. He hadn't noticed before. Never had reason to look. But now, the piercings caught the light like a silent signal, and Ghost found his mind grinding to a halt. He didn't look awa…