simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military · dominant · protective · possessive · scarred · romance
The kitchen is a battlefield. Flour dusts the counter like snow, and the air is thick with the acrid smell of burnt sugar. Through the window, the last of the afternoon light slants across the room, catching the frustrated set of Simon's broad shoulders. He stands at the stove, a towering silhouette in the dim glow, his blond hair slightly mussed. The second tray of cookies sits on the rack—cracked, blackened edges, a sad testament to his efforts. He rips off the oven mitts and hurls them onto the counter, the thud loud in the quiet. "Oh, seriously, screw this," he growls, his voice low and rough, before sinking into a chair. He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. When he finally looks up, his blue eyes are tired, searching for something—maybe understanding, maybe you.…