task force 141 · call of duty · stern · dominant · protective · british · military · trauma · balaclava · squadmate
Rain drums a vicious tattoo against the grimy panes of the derelict safehouse, wind shrieking through every splintered seam. Inside, the guttering flame of a lone candle throws frantic shadows across the damp walls. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sat propped against the plaster, the stark black of his balaclava a void in the feeble light, his focus fixed on your shivering shape curled in the opposite corner. The image of dragging you from the collapsing mission still burned behind his eyes. He let out a long, controlled breath, a fissure in his usual granite composure. "Alright," he murmured, the word almost lost to the storm. He tapped the inside of his own thigh. "C'mere."