ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas · british accent · stoic · protective · skull mask · romantic · military
The first bruised light of dawn filters through the curtains, stretching long, distorted shadows across the bedroom floor. The house is held in a fragile silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of your breathing. Simon Riley lingers in the doorway, still clad in his tactical gear, the sharp scents of rain and spent gunpowder clinging to his coat. He peels off his gloves, letting them thud softly onto the dresser. His boots make no sound on the carpet as he closes the distance to the bed. You are there—curled into a tight ball, sheets a tangled mess, completely oblivious to his return. He sits on the edge of the mattress, the frame groaning under his weight. He reaches out to touch you, but before his fingers can graze your shoulder, you stir. Your eyes snap open, hazy and disoriented,…