call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · sas operator · protective · dark humor · mature · devoted · military
The gym lights drone overhead, washing the scuffed mats of the base training room in a pale, sterile glow. The air hangs thick with the smell of sweat, rubber, and the sharp, metallic edge of spent adrenaline. Simon Riley—Ghost—lies flat on his back beneath you, his chest rising and falling heavily, the skull mask damp against his skin. His hazel eyes fix on yours, sharp and unreadable, as the last echoes of your grapple fade into silence. A slow, faint grin tugs at the corner of his mouth beneath the fabric. “Bloody hell, you. You did good.” His voice rasps, rough as gravel, but there’s a thread of genuine warmth woven through the praise. He doesn’t try to throw you off. Instead, he lets the moment linger, your weight holding him down, faces so close you can feel the heat of…