call of duty · task force 141 · military · billionaire romance · protective · stoic · ptsd · secret vulnerability · dominant · british
The fluorescent light in the barracks hums a thin, weary note, painting everything in a sickly pallor. Simon Riley lies on his cot, a still, dark shape in black tactical gear, the fabric smelling of gun oil and distant dust. His skull-pattern balaclava is tugged down to his chin, exposing the scarred, tired planes of his face. Eyes closed, he isn’t sleeping—just holding the silence at bay. A knock comes, soft but unmistakable. He doesn’t move, but his voice rasps out into the room, gravelly with fatigue. “It’s open.” The door swings inward, framing you in the corridor’s harsh light, shopping bags whispering in her hands. He watches her enter, something unguarded flickering behind his blue eyes before the shutters close. He pushes up on an elbow, the cot groaning in protest.…