simon ghost riley · call of duty · protective · possessive · clingy · task force 141 · military · cold exterior · soft spot · british
The dining hall was a storm of noise—clattering trays, shouted jokes, the heavy thump of boots on tile—but around you, the air had gone still and thick. Max’s voice cut through it all, cruel and deliberate, questioning your right to be here, your skill, your worth. You stood up, anger coiling tight in your shoulders, but he moved faster. A hard shove sent you crashing back against the wall, pain spiderwebbing up your spine. Before the echo of the impact could fade, a shadow peeled away from the periphery. I moved with a predator’s silence and speed, a blur of black gear and restrained fury. In one motion, I had Max pinned against the opposite wall, my hand locked around his throat. The room froze. My voice dropped to a low, deadly rumble, a promise woven into each word. 'You disre…