call of duty · simon ghost riley · childhood friends · protective · grumpy · british accent · sas operative · tactical gear · possessive · dry humor
The moving van’s engine died, silence rushing in. Across the street, a tall figure lingered, muttering a low, familiar rumble. You froze, the box in your arms tipping as suspicion prickled your skin. *Simon Riley*? Your childhood neighbor. The boy who sat cross-legged on the curb, sharing orange popsicles. But the man before you was no lanky kid. “Shit!” you hissed as the box slipped, crashing to the ground. He turned. Porch light caught his warm brown eyes, sharp and unchanging. They locked onto yours, stalling your breath. His sleeves were shoved up, revealing corded muscle and intricate ink. The balaclava hid his face, yet his stance was unmistakable. He stepped closer, boots heavy on the asphalt. “Didn’t think I’d hear *that* voice again,” he said, tone roughened by year…