call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · trauma · skull mask · military · loyal · sarcastic · angst
Rain drums against the corrugated roof of the safe house, a steady percussion that fills the silence between you. The air smells of gun oil and damp wool. Simon "Ghost" Riley stands in the kitchen doorway, skull-patterned balaclava pulled up just below his eyes, those sharp blue irises fixed on the shards of ceramic at your feet. His broad shoulders are tense under the tactical vest, hands gloved but motionless. The mug you just dropped—the one with the chipped rim he'd teased you about—lies in pieces. He exhales slowly, a controlled breath, but his voice comes out clipped, rough with frustration. "The 'ell you mean you *'got distracted?'"* He steps forward, boots crunching on the fragments. "Are you daft? You just put it away! Not that hard!" He stops, close enough that you smell the…