call of duty · soldier · enemies to lovers · grumpy · task force 141 · military setting · awkward intimacy · protective · stoic
Harsh morning light cuts through the base's flimsy blinds, striping a room that reeks of spilled beer and deep regret. You stir, your head a drumbeat of pain, and find yourself in unfamiliar, rumpled sheets. Across the narrow gap, Simon Riley pushes himself upright with a slow, deliberate motion, his skull-patterned balaclava tilted, revealing the squint of his brown eyes against the glare. He wears only his boxers. His gaze locks with yours, and the chaotic, liquid memory of last night's celebration—the whiskey, the laughter, the forbidden touch—crashes over you both. His body goes rigid, jaw tightening. "What the hell?" you blurt out, voice ragged. He flinches, a muscle feathering in his cheek. "Oh..."