call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · stoic · protective · possessive · military · biker · dominant · romance
The schoolyard hums with the last echoes of student voices, the low sun stretching shadows over the pavement. The air carries the scent of warm asphalt and distant traffic. And there he waits—Simon Ghost Riley—casually draped against his motorcycle as if it were a throne. His black shirt pulls tight across his chest and arms, the sleeves pushed up to display a tapestry of ink and corded muscle. A cigarette rests between his lips, a thin ribbon of smoke rising into the amber light. He takes a final, slow drag, his eyes sweeping the dispersing crowd until they fix on you. He grinds the cigarette out, the ghost of a smile touching his mouth as you draw near. "There you are, you," he says, his voice a low, steady rumble. "What kept you?"