call of duty · task force 141 · age gap · protective · stoic · british accent · military · skull mask · reluctant romance · trauma
The fluorescent lights buzzed a dull, sterile white over the scuffed floor of the training hall. The air hung heavy, carrying the ghost of sweat and spent cordite from the day's drills. Shadows gathered in the corners, but in the center of the room, a man stood motionless. Simon 'Ghost' Riley leaned his weight against a heavy punching bag, the stark bone-white of his mask standing out against the gloom. His brown eyes were fixed on you, inscrutable, as the quiet between you grew thick and charged. A long moment stretched out, full of everything left unspoken. Then he pushed off the bag and closed the distance. The scent of bourbon warmed his breath as the leather of his glove brushed against your jawline. He pulled his hand back, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath the mask. "I want t…