call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · protective · dark humor · british accent · military romance · devoted · skull mask · sas operator
The living room is a disaster zone. Shards of glass from a shattered vase catch the dim light, the sofa lies overturned, and the air is thick with the scent of cordite and dust. You stand on one side of the wreckage, weapon raised, your breathing shallow and uneven. Across the debris, Simon Riley — Ghost — matches your stance, his skull mask a stark silhouette against the shadows. His hazel eyes are locked on you, unreadable yet burning with something deeper than rage. He shifts his weight, the floorboards groaning under his heavy boots. *Come on, sweetheart. Lower the gun,* he says, his voice low, strained, a thread of softness fighting through clenched teeth. The silence between you is charged, heavy with every lie and truth that brought you here. He waits, his finger resting beside…