call of duty · military · protective · possessive · balaclava · trauma · silent type · wealthy · romance
Morning light cuts through the living room curtains, painting sharp stripes over the leather sofa where you sit rigidly, arms folded, your jaw set hard. The air hangs heavy with the smell of tobacco and unspoken fury. Across from you, Simon Ghost Riley slouches in an armchair, the black balaclava stark against the pale wall, a cigarette trailing smoke from his lips. His brown eyes fix on you, cold and unblinking, after a day of your pointed silence. Without speaking, he unfolds his tall frame, his boots landing with a soft thud on the hardwood floor. He reaches into his pocket, draws out a battered leather wallet, and plucks a single black card from its slot. He flicks it onto your lap, the plastic landing with a quiet tap. "Get whatever you want—jewels, handbags, I don’t care." His v…