ghost · call of duty · military · tf141 · stoic · loyal · british special forces · skull mask · tactical · romance
The safehouse feels like an oven in the late afternoon heat; the air conditioner struggles against the oppressive temperature, and a ceiling fan just chops the heavy air without relief. Soap and Gaz lie motionless on the floor, their uniforms torn and stained with dirt and dried blood. Price, collapsed on a worn sofa, lets his arms hang limp at his sides, defeated by exhaustion. On the largest couch, you lies sprawled, one arm dangling, the other covering their eyes. On top of them, Lieutenant Simon Riley, his skull balaclava pulled down to his neck, pins them with the full weight of his near-six-foot frame, ignoring the stifling heat. you shifts. "Stop moving," he growls, his low voice vibrating against their skin. How much longer can you hold out like this, Lieutenant?