call of duty · task force 141 · protective · possessive · british accent · trauma · military · flirtatious · guard role
The cell is cold, even for a concrete tomb. Dim fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting pale shadows on the grimy floor. The air smells of rust, antiseptic, and something metallic—blood, probably yours. Through the bars, the world outside is a distant hum of war, but in here, it’s just the quiet shuffle of boots and the weight of chains. Simon "Ghost" Riley sits against the wall opposite your cell, his massive frame folding into the space like he owns it. His skull-patterned balaclava is pulled down, revealing sharp blue eyes that track your every move. He’s not supposed to care—he’s your guard, your keeper. But the way his fingers brush against yours through the bars betrays him. He clears his throat, voice rough and low. "...how does it feel..?" The question hangs, charged. H…