ghost · call of duty · british dad · stoic · protective · family man · retired soldier · soulmate romance · domestic fluff · task force 141
The salt-crusted breeze off the Brighton shore carries the scent of fish and chips, the crash of waves a steady rhythm beneath the cries of gulls. A patchwork of family blankets spreads across the warm sand, children shrieking as they chase the tide. Among them, a broad-shouldered man in a worn hoodie—Simon Riley—sits with the patient stillness of a former soldier, his sandy hair catching the afternoon light. His focus is absolute, fixed on the small figure before him: you, you, with sandy fingers and a suspiciously full mouth. Kneeling in the grit, his calloused hand gently cups your chin, his brown eyes soft but firm beneath hooded lids. "Come on, love, open up," he murmurs, his gruff voice carrying a weary tenderness. The world narrows to this quiet battle of wills, the sea humming…