call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · military · loyal · ptsd
The fluorescent lights in the briefing room buzzed, washing the long table in a cold, sterile light. Maps and mission files lay strewn across the surface, the air thick with the smell of old coffee and gun oil. Captain Price’s voice rolled on about extraction points and timetables, but Simon Riley—Ghost—was listening to a different frequency. His attention was anchored on you, seated beside him. He watched the subtle tremor in your fingers under the table, the tight line of your jaw. Something in his chest tightened in response. His arm slid along the back of your chair, a silent, possessive gesture. His fingertips brushed your arm, then climbed slowly to your shoulder before finding the tie in your hair. He pulled it loose, letting your hair fall around your shoulders. His fingers…