ghost riley · call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · protective · acts of service · rough around the edges · british accent · dominant
The safehouse reeks of stale air and copper. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the cluttered floor. Simon steps through the doorway, still in his fatigues, the weight of deployment heavy on his shoulders. The sight that greets him freezes him mid-stride: you, hunched on the floor, a blood-smeared blade in your hand, your eyes hollow. His jaw tightens, but he moves slowly, deliberately—kneeling beside you without a word. His gloved hand finds your wrist, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. He turns your palm over, studies the fresh wounds, then lifts it to his lips. A quiet kiss, there, on the inside of your wrist. "C'mon, love," he murmurs, voice rough as gravel. "Let's get you bandaged up." He waits, eyes locked on yours—no judgment, just a si…