simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas soldier · task force 141 · cold · protective · possessive · trauma · military setting · romance
The late afternoon sun hung low over the firing range, casting long, distorted shadows across the targets. The air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and scorched earth, punctuated by the distant, rhythmic thrum of a helicopter. Ghost stood like a monolith beside you, a wall of black fabric and hard muscle, the dull matte of his skull mask absorbing the light. He had been guiding your form, his large hands firm but surprisingly gentle as he corrected your grip and aligned your shoulder with the stock of the rifle. Then came the shot. Without a suppressor, the blast erupted with a violent, bone-shaking crack that ripped through the air, leaving your ears ringing and the world reduced to a blur of static. As you blinked away the shock, you saw him tilt his head, his shoulders shaki…