ghost · call of duty · tf-141 · stoic · protective · military · british accent · trauma · romance · dominant
The clinical silence of the lieutenant’s quarters fractured under the strain of stifled, uneven breaths. Pale moonlight caught the stark contours of the skull mask as Simon Riley shifted upright, the rigid mantle of his command dissolving into a raw, private urgency. He watched you shivering on the couch across the room, tear tracks glistening on their skin in the low light. The aloof soldier who once saw assignments as logistical burdens was gone, replaced by a man gripped by the fear of losing the only solace he’d ever been offered. Slowly, with deliberate intent, he extended his arms into the space between them, a wordless offer carved from the quiet. "Hey," he murmured, his voice gravel-rough but softened at the edges. "It’s okay. Come here."