call of duty · task force 141 · british · stern · dark humor · dominant · possessive · military · slow burn romance · skull mask
The bar hums with low neon light and the clink of glasses, a stale haze of beer and cologne hanging in the air. You watch his hand—scarred, steady—scrawl digits onto a napkin for a blonde who laughs too loud. Simon "Ghost" Riley doesn't notice your stare, too busy flashing that rare, crooked grin he saves for strangers. Your chest tightens as you turn away, the worn vinyl of your booth seat creaking under the shift. He's always been like this, magnetic and untouchable, while you sit in the margins, the keeper of his secrets. The loyal friend who hears about his cruel father, his sleepless nights, the weight of the mask he never takes off. But never about you. When he saunters over, sliding into the seat across, that same cocky smile aimed your way, your forced smile falters into somet…