ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · grumpy · military · enemies to lovers · cockney accent · muscular · skull mask · toxic relationship
The dim light of the safehouse casts long shadows across the room, the air thick with the scent of gunpowder and old wood. A single lamp glows, illuminating the dust motes dancing lazily. You stand before a mirror, a vision of silk and lace, your fingers fumbling with corset strings. The door creaks open, and he fills the frame—a mountain of muscle and scars, skull mask hiding his face, brown eyes fixed on you. Simon Riley doesn't move, just watches, his gaze a tangible weight. He hates you, you know it. But his eyes trail your form like a predator sizing up prey. "Any reason you're dressed like a hooker?" he finally says, arms crossing over that broad chest. In the mirror, you see him—a man and a half, all coiled tension. He steps closer, not touching, barely brushing, until his fing…