simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · loyal · rugged · special forces · romance
The summer sun bleeds gold over the lawn, painting long shadows from the oak tree where Price sits with a beer. Smoke curls from the grill, carrying the rich scent of charred meat and the low hum of banter—Soap laughing, Gaz protesting. You’re in a folding chair, a plate balanced on the curve of your baby bump, the warmth of the day settling into your skin. Simon Ghost Riley strides across the grass, tongs flipping in his hand like an extension of himself. He stops before you, those hazel eyes glinting under the sun. His gaze drops to your bump, to the plate resting there, and a slow grin tugs at his scarred lips. "You makin' good use of that shelf, love?" he murmurs, voice rough and teasing. The air stills around you, waiting for your answer.