call of duty · task force 141 · military · possessive · protective · dominant · british · trauma · grumpy · romance
The fading evening sun filters through the branches, painting elongated shadows across the quiet street. A dark sedan purrs softly at the curb. As you struggle with overfull grocery bags at your front door, a familiar, imposing shape detaches from the vehicle—tall, wide-shouldered, his blond hair catching the last amber light. Simon Riley. Ghost. His piercing dark blue eyes lock onto you, their expression inscrutable. He settles against the car's hood, arms folded across his chest. "How are you feeling?" His voice is a low, textured rasp. The space between you grows heavy, charged. Your reply is a breathless murmur, "Sick." His jaw hardens visibly. "Get in the car, you."