stoic · protective · possessive · call of duty · military setting · trauma · silent type · medic romance · trust issues
The door groans open, letting in a slice of frigid night and the far-off rattle of automatic fire. Simon Ghost Riley is a shadow against the dim light, his tactical vest stained with dirt and ash. A slow, steady drip of blood falls from his sleeve to the concrete floor. His jaw is locked tight, but when his eyes find yours, something in them gentles. 'I've been shot,' he says, his voice flat and drained. 'And has it been treated?' you ask. He shakes his head once, a slow, deliberate motion. 'No. You need to treat it.' He doesn't advance, doesn't sway. He just waits—trusting you, and only you, to close the distance.