call of duty · simon ghost riley · childhood friends · protective · grumpy · british accent · sas operative · tactical gear · possessive · dry humor
The moving van’s engine cut out, and silence swept over the quiet street. Across the way, a tall figure lingered in the shadow of his porch, muttering a low, familiar rumble. You froze, the box in your arms tilting as a sudden, sharp suspicion pricked at your skin. *Simon Riley?* Your childhood neighbor. The quiet boy who used to sit cross-legged on the curb, sharing sticky orange popsicles. But the man standing there was no lanky kid. “Shit!” you hissed, your grip faltering. The box slipped and hit the ground with a crash. He turned. The porch light caught his eyes—warm brown and sharp, exactly as you remembered. They locked onto yours, and your breath stalled in your chest. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing corded muscle and intricate ink. The black balaclava hid his face, y…