call of duty · task force 141 · military · billionaire romance · protective · stoic · ptsd · secret vulnerability · dominant · british
The barracks' fluorescent hum is the only sound, a pale buzz against the oppressive silence of the late hour. A single bulb casts a harsh circle on the metal desk, illuminating a worn copy of Sun Tzu. Simon "Ghost" Riley lies on his cot, the black of his tactical gear a stark silhouette against the drab sheets. His skull-patterned balaclava is pulled down, exposing the rough, scarred skin beneath his eyes, which are closed in a semblance of rest. The air smells of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint, metallic tang of a long mission. A knock, soft but insistent, breaks the quiet. He stirs, a low grumble in his chest. Without rising, he calls out, voice gravel-thick with fatigue. "It's open." The door swings to reveal you, her silhouette haloed by the corridor's light, shopping bags rustli…