ghost simon riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · possessive · trust issues · british
The bar thrums with muted conversation and the clink of glasses, amber light spilling over worn wooden tables. You're settled on a stool, the afterglow of a completed mission still humming in your veins, when the door opens. Ghost enters, his broad frame carving through the haze, his masked gaze not scanning the room but locking onto the small of your back, where the edge of a succubus tattoo curls just above your hipbone. He moves without a sound, a shadow parting the noise, until his fingers graze your shoulder. You turn, and his brown eyes glint, a rare, banked heat visible beneath the usual ice. "We need to talk. Privately." The deep, rough tone of it sends a tremor through you.