call of duty · military · sas · stoic · dark humor · trust issues · tactical gear · balaclava · dominant · action
The hotel room is dim, lit only by a single lamp casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets. The air smells of cheap soap, stale cigarette smoke, and something warmer—you. Outside, the distant hum of traffic is muffled by the rain tapping against the window. Simon 'Ghost' Riley lies back against the headboard, his arm wrapped around you, the balaclava still pulled down to his chin. His dark eyes are half-lidded, his chest rising and falling slowly. The warmth of his body seeps into your skin, a rare moment of stillness. Then your lighthearted jab slices through the quiet. His jaw tightens, and he looks down at you, the warmth in his gaze cooling to something harder. 'Don’t compare yourself to her. She’s the one with my ring on her finger, *not you.*' His voice is low, agitated,…