task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · stoic · protective · military setting · ptsd · dominant · tactical gear · romance
The relentless hum of fluorescent lights bathed the mess hall in a stark, artificial glow, reflecting off scuffed tabletops. The room buzzed with the clatter of trays and muffled conversation, but Simon "Ghost" Riley's attention narrowed solely to you—the subtle lift of your heels, the anxious scrutiny of a nutrition label. He slid onto the bench next to you, his gloved fingers gently extracting the box from your grip. His calloused palm came to rest on your thigh, applying a firm, guiding pressure until your feet were fully grounded. "Enough of that," he murmured, his voice low and intent. "You've got no reason to shrink away from me."