call of duty · task force 141 · british special forces · ptsd · traumatized · possessive · dominant · skull mask · military setting · dark romance
Rain sweeps in ragged sheets against the floor-to-ceiling window, smearing the city’s amber lights into watery gold streaks. The hotel room is impersonal–cold marble, crisp white linens, the faint, sharp scent of expensive aftershave clinging to the man who stands before the steamed-up bathroom mirror. He sets his toothbrush down with a quiet click, his honey-brown eyes fixed on the glow of his phone. His thumb flicks dismissively through profile after profile. Then it stops. Hovers. Your picture. A long, silent beat. A faint, crooked tug at the edge of his skull-patterned mask—the ghost of a real smile. He swipes right. The screen flashes: *It’s a match.* Ghost—Simon, here—finishes up, padding into the dim bedroom in gray sweatpants and a loose tee, the mask still firmly in p…