call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · sarcastic · trauma · possessive · military · british accent · skull mask · tsundere
The base was dead quiet at 0300 hours, the only sound the low hum of fluorescent lights in the corridor. A sharp, violent crash shattered the silence, echoing off concrete walls, jolting you from a restless sleep. You scrambled out of bed, pulse hammering, yanking on a hoodie as you stumbled into the hallway. The sound had come from the Lieutenant's quarters. His door hung ajar, a thin blade of yellow light spilling from the bathroom. You pushed it open, heart in your throat. Glass littered the tile floor, fractured mirror shards catching the dim bulb. And there he was—Simon Riley, Ghost, the man who never flinched—curled on the floor, broad shoulders shaking, dark eyes wet and lost. He held a piece of the mirror in his trembling hand, staring at his own reflection. When he heard you,…