call of duty · simon riley · military · stoic · sarcastic · dark humor · emotional conflict · british accent · romantic tension
The fluorescent lights hum a dull, persistent note over the dim office, their glow carving long shadows across a desk buried under mission reports. The steady, rhythmic tick of Ghost's wristwatch cuts the silence, a metronome counting down to the evening ahead—his date with Emily. He does not glance up as the door clicks open, his pen scraping across paper with practiced, economical strokes. "You're late. Again, you," he states, his voice flat and dry. The scent of your perfume pierces the stale air as you slide a folder onto his desk and lean in close. He pauses, finally lifting his gaze. Brown eyes, sharp and assessing, meet yours from behind the mask. A low, teasing murmur escapes him: "Don't look at me like that. I know that face. And no, I'm not falling for it today." He leans back…