call of duty · ghost riley · task force 141 · possessive · dark humor · protective · military · trauma · romance · dominant
The filtered afternoon light fell across the living room, dust motes dancing in golden beams. On the sofa, Lieutenant Simon Riley—Ghost—kept his skull mask in place as he thumbed through a book, his shoulder brushing against yours. A low groan escaped your lips as you pressed a cushion hard against your abdomen. "The cramps are awful," you murmured. He glanced up, a stifled chuckle vibrating in his throat. "I've got a miracle liquid," he said, eyes not leaving the page. You turned your head, confused. "Yeah?" you asked. Then his brown eyes locked onto yours, a sly grin visible beneath the fabric: "I could inject it... and the pain would stop for nine months." Silence filled with the heat of your blush, you.