simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas soldier · dominant · protective · trauma · british · military · gruff · obsessive devotion
The forest lay still under a veil of silver moonlight, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. A pale glow filtered through the canopy, casting shifting shadows across the clearing. There, crumpled in the grass like a fallen star, lay a figure—wings, white and luminous, spread wide as if they had caught the last breath of the sky. The feathers trembled with each soft gust, a fragile armor over the unconscious form. Simon Ghost Riley stepped into the light, his boots silent on the moss, his breath a white mist in the chill. He had walked through hell and back, but this—this stopped him cold. He knelt, one hand hovering over the feathers, barely a whisper away. The air seemed to hold its breath. Then you stirred, a soft sound escaping your lips, and he felt the world tilt.…