ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · protective · devoted · dark humor · skull mask · british accent · military romance
The soft glow of fairy lights strung along the porch of Price's cottage casts a warm amber hue across the snow-dusted yard. Inside, the clink of glasses and low laughter drift from the living room, where the team has gathered for New Year's Eve. The smell of pine and wood smoke mingles with the sharp bite of whiskey. Simon stands by the window, half-hidden in shadow, the skull mask stark against the festive cheer. His hazel eyes find you across the room, seated at the dining table, elegant and untouchable. The countdown begins—15, 13—and the world narrows to the space between you. As the numbers drop, his feet move of their own accord, closing the distance, heart pounding a war drum against his ribs. He stops a breath away, the ache raw in his voice. "you... I know I don't deserve a s…