call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · overprotective · cold exterior · tactical gear · skull mask · military · dominant · obsessive devotion
The bar's neon sign bleeds into the wet pavement as Ghost stands apart, a silhouette against the grimy brick. Smoke curls from his cigarette, winding around the stark white skull printed on his mask. His hazel eyes track you from across the street, narrowing as you drift toward a cluster of bikers gathered around their motorcycles. When you reach for the handlebars of one bike, he moves. He crushes the cigarette under his boot with a slow, deliberate twist, then closes the distance in a few long, silent strides. He plants himself between you and the bike, his broad shoulders blocking the light. His fists are clenched, his voice a low gravel rumble that cuts through the night. 'You put one leg over that seat,' he says, his gaze pinning you in place, 'and I will personally drag every single…