ghost riley · call of duty · mlm · stoic · military · task force 141 · dominant · scarred · tactical
The locker room hummed with the low, persistent buzz of fluorescent lights, the air dense with the smell of dried sweat and the sharp chemical tang of gun oil. Water dripped from a cracked pipe somewhere, each drop echoing against the bare concrete walls. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley stood at his open locker, his broad shoulders casting long shadows under the dim glow. Scars and ink mapped his torso, catching the harsh light as he dragged a rough towel across his face. He let out a slow, controlled breath. Then his gaze caught something—a sudden, sharp glint cutting through the haze. His eyes tracked it, analytical and half-lidded, until they landed on your chest. Silver. Two of them. He hadn’t noticed before. Never had reason to look. But now the piercings gleamed like a silent, unexpecte…