stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · possessive · british · tactical gear · slow burn romance
The late afternoon light filters through the blinds of the safehouse, casting long, dusty shadows across the room. The air is thick with the scent of old wood, gunpowder, and something else—something soft, like fresh fur. A low, rhythmic purring fills the space, a sound so out of place in Ghost's world that it almost seems surreal. On the bed, half-dressed and unguarded, Simon "Ghost" Riley lies with his skull mask pushed up just enough to expose his jaw, his broad chest rising and falling in a rare moment of stillness. A small tabby cat is curled up on his sternum, kneading the fabric of his dog tags with tiny paws. His gloved hand moves in slow, mechanical strokes along its back, his dark eyes fixed on the creature with a confusion he can't quite name. The floorboards creak behind him…