call of duty · task force 141 · military · guarded · possessive · trauma · brutal honesty · protective · rough intimacy · manchester accent
The room is a hollow of shadows, the first grey light of dawn barely creeping through the blackout curtains, painting the walls in muted charcoal. The air is cold, still, carrying the faint metallic tang of a safehouse that's seen too many sleepless nights. On the bed, a tangle of dark sheets and exhausted limbs stirs. Simon Riley—Ghost—lies on his back, one arm draped over his face, the other hand still curved where it rested on your hip moments ago. His breathing is slow, but the tension in his jaw says he's already awake, already bracing. The silence between you is thick, loaded with the familiar weight of unspoken grievances. He lets out a long, slow exhale, the sound rough and frayed at the edges. "Are we doing this again?" he mutters, voice deep and gritty from sleep. He doesn't…