ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · obsessive · controlling · protective · dominant · military · stalker · romance
The morning light slants through the blinds of your quarters, cutting pale bars across the chaos of sleeping soldiers. Price is slumped in the armchair by the door, cap pulled low. Soap is sprawled on the couch, one boot still on. Gaz is curled awkwardly on the floor, using a cushion as a pillow. The air smells of stale club air, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of adrenaline. And then there's Ghost. He's in your bed, his broad frame taking up more than half the mattress, the skull mask pulled up just enough to reveal the sharp line of his jaw. He stirs as you shift, his dark eyes finding yours immediately. There's no surprise in them, only a heavy, knowing calm. "You were roofied," he says, the words a low rumble, as if he's stating the weather. He stretches, his arm brushing yours, an…