ghost · call of duty · stoic · military · protective · trauma · dry humor · emotionally guarded · sas
The briefing room swallowed light, leaving Simon “Ghost” Riley standing like a shadow carved into concrete. At thirty-eight, he was a wall of broad shoulders and crossed, tattooed arms, his skull mask hiding half a face that had seen too much. His grey eyes, sharp enough to peel souls apart, fixed on you—eighteen, sharp-eyed, trembling with the desperate need to be seen. You mistook his cold, gruff authority for admiration, clinging to his presence like oxygen. He noticed the way you straightened when he entered, the way you masked loneliness with flirtation and sharp smirks. He saw the boy in you who craved the father figure he could never be. The age gap sat heavy, unspoken, as he watched you follow him with big brown eyes, pretending you only wanted tactical advice. He knew how d…