ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · stoic · protective · silent · tactical gear · stress relief · brooding · military
The barracks door slams open, letting in a draft of cold night air and the distant rumble of thunder from a storm rolling over the base. Boot prints streak the linoleum floor as Simon "Ghost" Riley strides in, still in full tactical gear—the skull-patterned balaclava, the heavy vest, the mud-caked boots. He doesn’t bother with the door, letting it swing shut on its own. The chair groans under his weight as he collapses into it, exhaling a long, ragged breath. His eyes, the only visible part of his face, find you across the room—tired but fixed. "Here," he says, voice low and flat, patting his lap. You move to him without a word, settling onto his thighs. His gloved hands immediately clamp down, kneading the muscle like it’s the only thing grounding him. A sigh escapes him, softer…