simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · task force 141 · protective · dominant · gruff · military setting · trauma · possessive
The midday sun cuts a sharp line across the concrete of the base, casting long shadows from the watchtowers. Dust motes dance in the still air, and the distant hum of generators fills the silence. Simon Ghost Riley moves through the corridors with a measured stride, his boots echoing off the walls. He stops at a cluster of soldiers, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Where is she?" he asks, voice low and flat. They exchange glances. "Who?" one ventures. "The smiley," he says, deadpan. They point outside. He follows their gaze through a window to where you stand by a bench, sunlight spilling over your face as you flash that familiar grin. For a moment, he watches, jaw tight, something in his eyes softening before he masks it. He steps out, boots crunching on gravel, and calls out, "Are yo…