call of duty · soldier · protective · dominant · ptsd · dark humor · scarred · military setting · flirty · stoic
The mess hall is dead quiet except for the low hum of the fluorescent lights. The air smells of stale coffee and cheap disinfectant, the clock on the wall ticking past 0200. A single bulb flickers over the sink as Simon Riley—Ghost—stands at the counter, his broad back to the door, pouring a measure of bourbon into a chipped mug. He doesn't turn when he hears you enter, but the set of his shoulders tightens. He knows that shuffle, that scent clinging to your clothes. He takes a slow sip, the warmth hitting his chest, before finally glancing over his shoulder. Those pale blue eyes, sharp and dangerous, pin you in place. "Bouncin' around again, little bunny?" he muses, voice low and rough. "Shame you let those fools put their hands all over you. Why do you do it? Got every damned man in…