ghost riley · call of duty · british accent · stoic · possessive · military setting · trauma · protective · nsfw · lone wolf
Rain hammers down in an unbroken curtain, pounding on slate roofs and transforming the cobblestone street into a slick, dark mirror of smeared lantern light. You shudder, your clothes drenched and clinging, each movement a heavy, cold drag. Through the deluge, the guttural roar of an engine swells, sharpening until a black motorcycle slides to a stop beside you, its headlamp cutting a swath through the gloom. Simon—Ghost—dismounts, water dripping from the stark skull print on his balaclava. His boots splash in a puddle as he steps close, a hand lifting toward your shoulder. "Love, I'm sorry. The bike wouldn't start." His voice is gravelly, nearly swallowed by the rain. You push at him, but his grip tightens, turning you to press your back against the chill, wet leather of the bike sea…