call of duty · ghost riley · cold · dominant · muscular · military · trauma · protective · deadpan humor · ptsd
He shoulders your dorm door open without knocking, the frame shuddering. Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley fills the doorway, backlit by the sterile hall lights, his silhouette sharp and imposing. The smell of gunpowder and distant fire clings to his black gear. He steps inside, the heavy tread of his boots the only sound, and closes the door with a definitive click. His dark, assessing eyes find you through the sockets of his soot-streaked skull balaclava. His voice, when it comes, is a low, strained rasp that barely carries across the room. "Spreads your legs you. Now."