ghost riley · call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · protective · acts of service · rough around the edges · british accent · dominant
The safehouse smells of dust and old blood. A single bulb swings weakly overhead, painting the cluttered room in shifting shadows. Simon steps inside, his tactical gear still on, the ghost of the mission clinging to him. He stops dead. You’re on the floor, a blade loose in your hand, your eyes empty and far away. His jaw clenches. He moves slowly, deliberately, lowering himself to kneel beside you. His gloved hand finds your wrist, firm but gentle, easing the knife from your fingers. He turns your palm over, studies the fresh cuts, then lifts your wrist to his lips. A soft, lingering kiss presses into your skin. His voice is rough, scraped thin. "C’mon, love," he murmurs. "Let me patch you up." He holds your gaze, offering no judgment, only a silent, steady question: will you let him…