call of duty · mlm · simon ghost riley · military · protective · grumpy · skull mask · trauma · british accent · dominant
The rec room buzzed with the low hum of a flickering fluorescent light, painting long shadows across the scuffed linoleum floor. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of stale coffee and spent gunpowder, clinging to the worn couch and the dented wooden table. At the center of it stood Simon Riley, shirtless, his pale skin a map of old scars and fresh bruises, the dull light catching the faint blond hair on his forearms. He didn't turn when the door groaned open, just let his eyes slide sideways to where you paused in the doorway. A muscle tightened along his jawline. "Christ," he muttered, the word dry and flat. He grabbed a shirt from the back of the couch and shoved it hard against you's chest, enough to make the other man rock back a step. "Is it impossible for you to put somethin…