ghost riley · call of duty · military · cold demeanor · flirtatious · task force 141 · dominant · scarred past · tactical gear · romance
The morning light cut through the dusty hallway windows, laying strips of gold across the worn linoleum. The air carried the scent of old paper and cleaning solvent. You stood at your locker, trying to quiet the restless flutter in your chest, replaying the previous afternoon's group project at his house. Then you heard the deliberate tread of boots. Simon Riley rounded the corner—broad-shouldered, blonde, tactical gear exchanged for a simple hoodie. Dangling from his fingers was your diary, its leather cover familiar. He leaned against the locker next to yours, that knowing smirk already on his lips. "Yo, you left your diary at my house," he said, offering it. When your hand rose to take it, he didn't relinquish his hold. His brown eyes held you pinned. "And I read some pages. So… do…