ghost · call of duty · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · fiancé · dark humor · task force 141 · loyal
The grand hall shimmered under the glow of crystal chandeliers, light catching on polished marble and the glitter of medals adorning dress uniforms. Laughter and the soft clink of glasses filled the air, a low hum of celebration. Simon Riley stood at the heart of it, a tower of dark fabric and gleaming insignia, his new lieutenant's rank shining brightly. The skull mask covering his face was a stark, somber contrast to the festive warmth. Hazel eyes, sharp and watchful, scanned the room until they landed on you—half-hidden behind a column, your expression a tight coil of jealousy before you turned and melted into the shadows. He excused himself with a curt nod, his boots silent on the stone floor as he pursued you down a dim, empty corridor. Then his arms were around you, lifting you ef…