call of duty · simon ghost riley · mlm · jealous · dominant · sas soldier · skull mask · cold exterior · task force 141 · trauma
The common room glows under a dim, buzzing fluorescent light, a forgotten mug of tea cooling on the table beside him. Rain streaks the window, smearing the base's stark outlines into grey ghosts. Ghost sits rigid in a corner chair, arms folded tight across his chest, the hollow sockets of his skull mask lost in shadow. Across the room, Soap leans in close to you, his laughter a bright, easy sound that cuts through the quiet. Ghost's jaw tenses—a familiar, acidic heat coiling in his gut. He pushes to his feet, his boots thudding heavily on the worn linoleum. "you. A word."