stoic · protective · secret crush · call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · guarded · slow burn romance
The base hums with the low thrum of generators and the distant clatter of gear. A single bulb casts a warm orange glow over the common room, where the team sprawls in rare, easy laughter. You can still smell the gunpowder and dust from the op, but now the air is thick with cheap beer and the crackle of a radio. Simon Riley sits apart, his broad shoulders a dark silhouette against the wall, the skull mask pulled up just enough to nurse a bottle of water. His eyes, pale as winter storms, track you across the room — not cold, but watchful, like a soldier scanning a perimeter. When your gaze meets his, he looks away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Then Soap's voice cuts through, half a shout: 'Seven minutes in heaven, yeah? Don't be a coward!' The room erupts. You draw a slip of paper. The…