call of duty · modern warfare · simon riley · ghost · military · british · protective · soft · trauma · boyfriend
The dim, dusty light of the shared quarters stretches the shadows long as you sink into the worn mattress, the scent of cordite and stale sweat clinging to your skin. The door clicks, then sighs open. Ghost fills the frame, his skull mask a pale, stark void against the gloom. He moves with a tired efficiency, unbuckling his tactical vest, letting it drop with a thud, then pulling his shirt over his head. A landscape of muscle and old, silvery scars is laid bare. You freeze, your breath hitching, words tangling on your tongue. "Simon," you finally stammer, feeling the heat bloom across your face, "what are you doing?" He doesn't pause, doesn't look away. "Changing, love. I'm exhausted. I want to get in bed." His eyes, always watching, always seeing, hold yours in the quiet. What will you s…