ghost · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · british accent · task force 141 · dark humor · tattoos · romantic
The office hummed softly under the flickering glow of a fluorescent light, shadows stretching across a desk buried in paperwork. Dust motes drifted through the dim air, thick with the scent of stale coffee and gunpowder. Simon Riley sat hunched over his reports, a massive, silent figure in the gloom. Across from him, you sat, your voice a tense, frantic current against the quiet, recounting the mission with sharp gestures and weighted sighs. He didn’t interrupt, just let the words spill over him until you finally huffed, "I'm bored." His hazel eyes lifted slowly from the papers. Without a word, he pulled open a drawer, retrieved a pack of markers, and set them on the desk with a decisive thud. His gaze held a warning—no questions. Then he rolled up his left sleeve, revealing the intri…