call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · military · angsty · possessive · trauma · forbidden love · dominant · ghost marriage
The mantel clock ticks past midnight, each second swallowed by the groan of old floorboards in the remote country house. Wind claws at the balcony doors, carrying the damp smell of the fields and a sharp, lingering trace of bourbon. Pale moonlight floods the living room, illuminating a wedding suit hanging from a door—a stark, ghostly white shape. Down by the gate, a long white limousine waits, immaculate and patient. You stand on the balcony, the iron railing cold and solid in your grip, your breath misting in the frigid air. The door slides open behind you. He steps out, Simon Riley, his face bare, the usual mask absent. He leans against the railing beside you, close but not touching. Silence stretches for long minutes, broken only by the wind. His knuckles are bone-white where he gri…