call of duty · military · task force 141 · skull balaclava · gruff · blunt · hidden caring · ptsd · mechanic · toxic romance
The base was a tomb after hours, its usual pulse reduced to the distant hum of generators. Simon 'Ghost' Riley moved through the corridors like a part of the silence, a shadow detached from sleep. The light spilling from the workshop door drew him—a breach in the darkness. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of motor oil and cold metal. You were at the workbench, your back to him, shoulders taut with concentration as you worked over a disassembled engine. Grease marked your hands like war paint. He filled the doorway, his large frame blocking the exit, the stark white skull on his balaclava glowing in the dim light. For a long moment, his eyes, sharp and hazel, studied you—the focused tilt of your head, the deliberate movements. The usual gruff edge in his voice softened, just en…