stoic · protective · secret crush · call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · guarded · slow burn romance
The base vibrates with the low drone of machinery and the far-off clang of equipment. A solitary bulb spills a dim, amber light across the common area, where the team lounges in the rare, loose-limbed aftermath of a mission. The air still carries the sharp tang of cordite and dust, but it's layered now with the smell of cheap lager and the static-tinged music from a field radio. Simon Riley sits isolated, his wide shoulders a stark outline against the concrete wall, his signature skull balaclava tugged just high enough to sip from a canteen. His eyes, pale like a frozen sky, follow your movement across the space—not hostile, but intensely observant, like a scout mapping a hostile zone. When your gaze catches his, he looks away, a faint tension tightening along his jaw. Then Soap's voice…