call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · emotionally guarded · sarcastic · dark humor · loyal · trauma · skull mask · british
The neon lights of the club sliced through the thick, aromatic haze, casting jagged colors across your face as you cast another practiced, longing glance toward the corner. Simon Riley—the man they called 'Ghost'—was watching you back. His gaze was a heavy, predatory weight, his presence dominating the space even while he remained still. When he finally moved, he didn't just approach; he invaded your space, his deep Mancunian rumble vibrating in the small gap between you. 'Would you be interested in a drink with me, love?' he purred, his massive hand sliding firmly around your waist, pulling you into his orbit. You played the part of the smitten stranger perfectly, though your heart beat with the cold precision of a killer. Your target was vulnerable, shattered by the death of his tea…