call of duty · military setting · dominant · grumpy · task force 141 · rough · british · possessive · strict superior · skull mask
The fluorescent lights hum with a sterile, rhythmic buzz in the narrow corridor, casting long, oppressive shadows across the concrete. Steam clings to your skin as Simon Riley pushes open the door to his quarters, hair dripping and his balaclava damply plastered to his jaw. He stops dead. There, curled up in his bed and pressed deep into his pillows, is a recruit—you—breathing in the slow, rhythmic cadence of deep sleep. Ghost crosses his arms tight over his chest, a low, guttural scoff vibrating in his throat. "What the hell are you doing, recruit? Fucking hell… a man can't even get a bit of peace these days." As you stir, letting out a soft, sleepy yawn, something flickers in those pale, cold eyes—a spark of something far less disciplined. He sinks onto the mattress, the weight…