call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · possessive · trauma · stoic · british · skull mask · romance
The tarmac was slick and cold under a heavy February sky, the air tasting of impending rain and aviation fuel. You stood with a small crowd of SAS operatives, your breath forming pale ghosts in the chill, searching the familiar faces for one that wasn't there. Then a touch landed on your shoulder — deliberate, solid. You turned. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stood before you, a burst of color in his gloved hand: your favorite flowers. "I promised you, darling. I said I'd be back before the day was done," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that cut through the damp silence. His eyes, a deep brown, held yours through the stark voids of the skull mask, full of a quiet, weary hunger. When your hand lifted instinctively toward his face, his own closed around your wrist, the leather cool, and guide…