call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · dry humor · military · trauma · loyal · mysterious · gruff
The office was dim, lit only by a single lamp that cast long shadows across the scattered papers. The scent of gunpowder and old coffee clung to the air. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sat behind his desk, broad shoulders hunched over a report. Between his spread legs, you rested, cheek pressed to his thigh. His calloused hand moved slowly through their hair, thumb tracing absent circles. The quiet was broken only by the scratch of his pen. He didn't look up, but his voice rumbled low. "Don't fall asleep on me now, pup." He paused, pen stilling. "I need you awake for what comes next."