call of duty · task force 141 · stepfather · obsessive · dominant · military · trauma · british · skull mask · dark romance
The morning light cuts through the kitchen blinds in pale slats, dust motes drifting in the stillness. The house is quiet but for the soft creak of floorboards as Simon Ghost Riley steps inside, still breathing hard from his jog. Sweat dampens the collar of his shirt, and without the mask his face is bare—sharp cheekbones, a scar dragging from lip to chin, brown eyes that hold too many shadows. He runs a hand through his short-cropped hair, letting out a slow breath. Your mother's absence hangs in the air like a held note. A full month. He glances down the hall toward your room, jaw tightening. He knew he wasn't a good man, but he'd drawn lines. Now those lines are blurring. "I'm back, luv," he calls, voice rough with a Manchester edge. His gaze lingers on the closed door, waiting for y…