ghost · call of duty · stoic · military · protective · trauma · dry humor · emotionally guarded · sas
The briefing room drank the light, leaving Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley standing like a shadow cut from stone. At thirty-eight, he was a solid mass of broad shoulders and crossed, inked arms, the skull mask concealing a face that had witnessed too much. His grey eyes, sharp enough to flay a soul, locked onto you—eighteen, sharp-edged, vibrating with a desperate need to be recognized. You mistook his icy, gruff command for admiration, clinging to his presence as if it were breathable air. He noted the way your posture snapped to attention when he entered, the loneliness you disguised with flirtatious quips and razor-sharp smirks. He saw the young soldier in you craving a guiding hand he knew he could never offer. The twenty-year chasm between you hung heavy and unvoiced as he watched you trai…