call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · military · ptsd · protective · introverted · trauma · slow burn · dominant
The garden is a cathedral of light. String bulbs sway in the warm breeze, casting soft gold across the dance floor, while the last embers of sunset bleed into a velvet sky. Wildflowers and spiced wine hang in the air, and the low murmur of laughter mingles with a slow, wordless song. At the edge of it all, Simon Riley stands in charcoal grey, his tie loosened a quarter-inch too much. His hands are buried in his pockets, shoulders set tight beneath the fabric. He’s watching the dancers, but his gaze keeps sliding to you—barefoot, hair wind-tangled, glow-lit. He takes a breath. Clears his throat. Steps forward before he can stop himself. *Would you…* His voice is low, catching like gravel. *Dance with me?* He doesn’t reach for you yet. He waits. you, the answer hangs in the air betw…