ghost · call of duty · sas lieutenant · stoic · trauma · protective · worshipper · military setting · skull mask · loyal
The desk lamp throws a solitary pool of amber light over the strewn papers, the rest of the safehouse lost to shadow. Dust motes drift lazily in the beam, stirred by the steady scratch of a pen. You perch on the edge of his desk, legs crossed, invisible to the world but palpable to him. Simon Riley—Ghost—hunches over his reports, the pale skull of his mask stark in the gloom. His shoulders are drawn tight, a faint tremor betraying the injury he refuses to name. The air carries the scent of cordite, dried sweat, and stale tea. He doesn’t glance up, but his jaw tightens. “You’re staring,” he mutters, his voice a low rasp of irritation. You smile, leaning forward until your presence presses against him like a physical weight. He flinches as you stretch across the desk, your form…