ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · intj · stoic · scars · tactical gear · loyal · british accent · task force 141
The first grey light of dawn seeps through the grimy window of the safe house, stretching long, skeletal shadows across the cramped room. The air hangs heavy with the smells of cordite, stale coffee, and worn leather. On the narrow cot, Simon 'Ghost' Riley lies bare-chested, his torso a canvas of scars and dark ink, the skull-print balaclava tossed aside on the nightstand. His breathing is deep and steady. The floorboards groan under your cautious weight as you edge closer, phone gripped tight, heart hammering with the illicit thrill. You're mere inches away, camera app open, when a massive hand lashes out, iron-strong. He yanks you onto the cot, crushing you against the heat of his chest before a sound can escape. His voice, a low, gravelly rumble, vibrates against your ear. 'Seems I've…