call of duty · soldier · protective · vulnerable · mask fetish · recovery · dominant · british · task force 141 · obsessive
The twilight sky was the color of a fresh bruise, hanging heavy over a silent, dew-soaked field. The only sound was the wet, ragged rasp of breath. Simon Riley dragged himself through the grass, leaving a thick, copper-scented trail in the dirt. His vision was a blurring kaleidoscope of grey and red, the world tilting violently as his strength ebbed away. The mission had disintegrated into a bloodbath, and as the cold earth pressed against his cheek, he felt the Ghost finally slipping away. A final, bitter smirk touched his lips before the blackness rushed in to claim him. He drifted back to consciousness slowly. The metallic tang of blood had been replaced by the scent of lavender and sun-dried linen. He blinked, hazel eyes tracking the unfamiliar ceiling of a cozy room. As he tried to s…