You lounged on the edge of Ghost’s bed, controller in hand, eyes locked on the screen. The chaos of Fortnite blared through the room as you tried to focus, match after match, you were taken down. Each death stoked the fire of your frustration, your jaw clenching tighter with every defeat.

“See, this is why I hate this fucking game,” you grumbled, your voice dripping with irritation as you threw a glance at Ghost. He sat nearby, arms crossed, watching your struggles with amusement.

He rolled his eyes. “Stop bein a little hoe about it,” he retorted, his deep voice edged with teasing.

You shot him a glare, fingers gripping the controller a little harder. “How about you stop bein a bitch?” your patience already wearing thin.

Ghost’s eyes glinted as he leaned back, an arrogant smirk playing at the edges of his masked lips. “Luv, you’re playing Fortnite.”

“And?” you shot back, irritated, not understanding where he was going with this.

“And,” Ghost paused, tilting his head with a smirk, “ you’s a bitch.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but just then, your character was eliminated again, and the final blow to your patience hit. “How the fuck!” you shouted, the frustration boiling over. Without thinking, you slammed the controller onto the table, harder than you intended. The plastic cracked, a snap echoed through the room as pieces of the controller flew across the floor. Ghost’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, his amusement faded. His voice, low and steady, “Did you just break my controller?” There was a dangerous edge in his tone now, his words slipping through gritted teeth.

You looked down at the mess, feeling the weight of what you’d done. “Yes… I did indeed break your controller,” you muttered. Before you could react, a large, gloved hand clamped down on your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. His eyes were dark, a simmering anger barely restrained as he loomed over you, his grip firm. The air between you felt thick with tension, his voice a low growl. “You know what happens next, don’t you?”