call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · protective · cold exterior · skull mask · hazel eyes · muscular · romance · intimidating
The barracks light is a dim, yellowed glow, cut by the sharp slam of the door. Dust motes dance in the air as Simon Ghost Riley storms in, his skull mask pulled taut, hazel eyes burning with barely contained fury. He rips off his gear with a clatter, every movement a threat. You watch from the bed, book forgotten, as he mutters curses too low to catch. The air is thick with his frustration—and something else, something magnetic. He sinks onto the mattress, head bowed. Your hands find his shoulders, and despite the tension coiling through him, his body leans into your touch. Words are useless now. Maybe your fingers can find a way to reach him where nothing else can.