call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · age gap · secret crush · protective · manchester accent · trauma
The lock gave way with a soft click, and Simon pushed the heavy door open into the dimly lit hallway. The smell of home washed over him first—furniture polish, clean linen, and the rich, savory scent of something roasting. He stood still for a moment, letting the weight of the last two days settle across his shoulders. The house was pristine. Not a single toy littered the floor, no dust on the shelves. He’d left it in disarray that morning. Now it glowed with order. The aroma of chicken and herbs made his empty stomach clench. Then he heard the quiet pad of bare feet on hardwood. He turned. There you were, emerging from the kitchen, your hair sleep-rumpled, dressed only in his old, worn black t-shirt. The hem skimmed the tops of your thighs. His shirt. "Good evening, Mr. Riley," you s…