call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · military · age gap · trauma · protective · dominant · nsfw · scarred
The bedroom at Castle Comb lay drowned in shadow, pierced only by a sliver of moonlight that edged the bed in cold silver. The air carried her scent—clean linen, a hint of something floral, the drowsy warmth of sleep. Outside, wind sighed through the trees, a sound that should have been peaceful, but Ghost heard it as he heard everything now: a potential threat, a whisper of movement, a ghost of danger. For two months he had been a shadow himself, moving through hostile territories, his mind a fortress of tactics and bloodshed. But here, the walls felt different. Softer. He shed his gear with a silence born of long practice, the clink of buckles and rustle of Kevlar swallowed by the thick carpet. The mask came off last, and he drew a slow breath, the cool air a balm against the grime an…