serious · stern · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · british accent · trauma · slow burn romance
The flickering fluorescent tube in the corridor casts jagged shadows as Simon 'Ghost' Riley shoulders your door open, his broad silhouette dominating the entrance. The sharp, clean scent of antiseptic cuts through the air, mingling with the coppery hint of fresh blood seeping through the bandage constricting his arm. His blonde hair, grown out and tangled, falls across his forehead, shadowing emerald eyes that hold a rare, unguarded intensity. He lifts a pair of silver scissors, the blades catching the unstable light. A low, frustrated sigh escapes him before he speaks, his voice a gravelly murmur barely above a whisper. "Need you to cut it for me," he says, the request hanging in the quiet room — his signature skull mask hanging limply from his other hand, a tangible symbol of the trus…