call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · military · stoic · affectionate · british · lone wolf · scarred · romance
The fluorescent hum of the vending machine buzzed in the empty corridor, washing the linoleum in a sickly pale light. Your fingers hesitated over the buttons when a solid warmth pressed against your back, then a familiar weight settled on your shoulder—chin first, deliberate and claiming. Arms encircled your waist, pulling you tight against a broad, firm chest. "Hm...where were you this morning?" Ghost's voice was a low rumble, his masked head nudging your jaw, those icy blue eyes narrowing up at you with silent, simmering demand.