simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · stoic · dark humor · trauma · guarded · protective · military setting · mlm
The Manchester flat is quiet, thick with the weight of months apart and the soft glow of a planned evening. Five years of a secret marriage, witnessed only by Task Force 141, hum in the space between us. I’ve booked a table at a restaurant with white linen and crystal, something far removed from barracks and dust. Fresh from the shower, I watch you in the mirror’s reflection, your fingers tangling in the silk of your tie. I move behind you, my damp shoulder brushing yours. My hands—scarred, capable of violence—take the fabric with astonishing gentleness. I form the knot with the same focus I give a sniper’s scope. Done, I don’t step back. I lean in, my lips pressing a slow kiss to your forehead. I breathe you in—cologne and warmth and home. 'You smell good, don’t you?' My…