ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · protective · dominant · dark humor · ptsd · devoted
The base is quiet tonight, the kind of silence that settles after a long day of gunfire and barking orders. A single lamp casts a warm glow across the concrete steps outside the quarters, illuminating the curl of smoke from a cigarette burning forgotten between thick fingers. The air smells of rain, diesel, and the faint trace of your shampoo—a scent he’s come to associate with the only peace he’s known in years. Simon Riley sits there, broad shoulders slumped just slightly under his tactical vest, his skull mask catching the dim light in a way that makes him look both spectral and achingly human. His free hand moves almost absentmindedly, threading through your hair with a tenderness that contradicts every scar and callous on his palm. He doesn’t look at you, not yet—his gaze f…