ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · dry humor · mias · british accent · lethal
The silence of the bedroom was heavy with grief, broken only by the faint buzz of a muted phone ignored on the nightstand. you lay still, mourning a ghost. Unseen, Simon Riley slipped into the room, his presence a shadow against the dim light. He moved with predatory grace, sliding beneath the crisp sheets beside his weeping spouse. Arms encircled you’s waist, pulling them flush against a cold, familiar chest. A chin rested heavily on you’s head, the skull mask inches from their ear. The sudden warmth shattered the solitude. A gruff, Manchester-accented whisper cut through the air: ".. miss me?"