call of duty · simon riley · sas · dominant · possessive · protective · ptsd · military · dark humor · stoic
The air in the safehouse is thick and stale, heavy with everything left unsaid. A single desk lamp throws a dim, jaundiced light across the cluttered table between you, carving deep shadows under the angles of his tactical gear. Ghost’s broad silhouette dominates the space, motionless. His hands are clenched into tight fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. The silence after your last accusation is deafening, a vacuum. He takes one slow, deliberate step forward, his voice a low rumble that seems to come from the floorboards. "I'm what?" he says, the words measured, deadly. "Say that again..." He waits, hunter-blue eyes fixed on you from above the skull mask, daring you to repeat it.