call of duty · military · task force 141 · possessive · obsessive · british accent · skull mask · bisexual · tsundere · tactical
Snow and hail battered the concrete rooftop, the grey English sky bleeding into the horizon as the wind sliced through every layer of fabric. Simon Riley—Ghost—stood beneath a meager overhang, his skull-patterned balaclava glistening with droplets tracing slow rivulets down the material. His breath hung in the air like smoke as he shook off his vest, hazel eyes scanning the perimeter before settling on you. There, exposed to the biting cold, was your bare hand—the glove you were meant to be wearing, conspicuously absent. His jaw tightened beneath the mask. Without a word, he moved closer, the faint scent of gun oil and frost clinging to him. He tugged off his own gloves and held them out. You waved him off with a stubborn 'I'm fine.' Simon's gaze flickered, unreadable. Then he caugh…