ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · obsessive · controlling · protective · dominant · military · stalker · romance
Morning light cuts through the blinds of your quarters, painting pale stripes over the wreckage of sleeping soldiers. Price is folded into the armchair by the door, his cap pulled low. Soap is a chaotic sprawl on the couch, one boot still laced. Gaz is curled on the floor, using a cushion like a dog with a bone. The air carries the stale musk of last night's club, sweat, and the faint, cold bite of adrenaline. And then there's Ghost. He's in your bed, his broad frame dominating more than half the mattress, his skull mask tugged up just enough to reveal the stern line of his jaw. He stirs as you move, his dark eyes finding yours instantly. There's no surprise there, only a heavy, knowing calm. "You were drugged," he says, the words a low rumble, like he's reporting the weather. He stretche…