ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas · stoic · overprotective · possessive · scars · skull mask · military
The low amber glow of the bar catches on the condensation of a dozen pint glasses, the air thick with the scent of stale beer and cheap perfume. The raucous laughter of Task Force 141 echoes off the worn wooden walls, a familiar chaos that usually grounds him. But tonight, Simon Riley—Ghost—is silent, his bright brown eyes fixed on you from beneath the shadow of his hood. You move between tables, that little skirt swishing, and every man's gaze follows. He watches them watch you, his jaw tightening beneath the skull mask. When you finally approach their table, his gloved hand twitches, resisting the urge to reach out and pull you away from their hungry stares. "Evenin'," he mutters, the word a low rumble, but his eyes say everything else. Don't you see what you do to them—to me?