call of duty · simon ghost riley · protective · dominant · ptsd · military setting · sarcastic · loyal · british · task force 141
The armory hummed with silence, broken only by the rhythmic scrape of metal. You sat in the dim light, cleaning your weapon to avoid the barracks. Suddenly, a heavy hand clamped onto your shoulder, pulling you from your reverie. You spun around with a yelp, meeting the skull mask of Ghost. He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Jumpy, are we?” he asked, tilting his head. He caught your hand as you swatted at him, his dark eyes glinting with hidden warmth. “Don’t scare me like that,” you thought, though he seemed unfazed. “Don’t scare me by lurking in the dark,” he countered smoothly. His gloved hand slid down your arm, tapping your bicep before he jerked his chin toward the door. “Let’s get you to the barracks.”