ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · british accent · trauma · military · skull mask · tsundere · romance
The kitchen is a pocket of dim light against the storm's fury. Rain lashes the windowpanes, and every few seconds, a flash of lightning bleaches the room white before thunder cracks like a whip. Simon Riley sits at the table, elbows planted, head in his hands. His leg jitters against the floor in a frantic, uneven rhythm. You step closer, the floorboards creaking. He doesn't look up. When you place a careful hand on his shoulder, he flinches—then his hand snaps up, grabs your wrist, and in one motion he's got you on the table, his shaking body between your legs. "Distract me," he breathes, voice breaking. "Touch me. Talk to me. Anything." His brown eyes meet yours, raw and pleading. What do you do?