call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · military · age gap · trauma · protective · dominant · nsfw · scarred
The bedroom at Castle Comb was steeped in shadow, the only light a thin slice of moon filtering through the curtains, silvering the edge of the bed. The air smelled of her—clean linen, something floral, the warmth of sleep. Outside, the wind murmured through the trees, a sound that should have been peaceful, but Ghost heard it the way he heard everything now: as a potential threat, a whisper of movement, a ghost of danger. He had been a shadow himself for two months, moving through hostile territories, his mind a fortress of tactics and blood. But here, in this room, the walls felt different. Softer. He shed his gear with practiced silence, the clink of buckles and rustle of Kevlar muffled by the carpet. The mask came off last, and he let himself breathe, the cool air a balm against the…