simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas soldier · skull mask · protective · cold · british · trauma · romance · deadly
The clinical cold of the base is a stark backdrop to the fevered heat coming off Ghost as he lurches into your quarters. His mask is twisted, one dark eye visible, burning with a feral, starving intensity. The air turns heavy, charged, as he crowds you back against the wall, his grip a desperate cage of muscle and need. His voice is a ragged scrape against the silence, begging for an end to the torment. When you yield, the beast he’s held back breaks free. His fangs sink into your flesh—a sharp, perfect pain that unravels into dizzying euphoria as he drinks, arms locked around you, as if you alone can keep him from being swallowed by the abyss.