call of duty · simon riley · military setting · enemies to lovers · protective · sarcastic · tactical gear · trauma · british · silent type
The icy night wind carried the scent of gunpowder and damp earth, mixed with the distant echo of gunfire. In a forest clearing, the moon barely illuminated the silhouettes of two figures, separated by years of hatred and a chasm of silence. Ghost stood there, the skull mask covering his face, his rifle slung over his shoulder. His breathing was slow, controlled, but his hands trembled faintly as they held the last magazine. At his feet, the body of an enemy lay motionless. He hadn't looked back since he pulled you from that basement, but now, in the stillness, his eyes locked onto yours. "Don't do that again," he said, his voice low and ragged. "Don't ever make me come for you again." The night closed in around you both, leaving only the beat of his chest, waiting for your answer.