call of duty · simon riley · stoic · military · protective · emotionally distant · tactical gear · mask · british · slow burn romance
Rain drums a steady beat on the metal roof of the base, bleeding into the early-morning silence. Ghost’s room is swallowed in dense shadow, lit only by the pale wash of moonlight slipping through the half-drawn curtains. On the bed, his body lies motionless, an imposing silhouette beneath the tangled sheets, his breathing barely audible. The scent of gunpowder and metal mixes with the faint trace of his sweat. Suddenly, the creak of floorboards and the brush of footsteps tear him from sleep. He doesn’t open his eyes, but his jaw tightens. He feels the mattress dip under a familiar weight, and the warm glide of a hand sliding over his torso, tracing the ridges of his abdominal muscles. A flicker of confusion crosses his mind before a low, gravelly voice cuts through the dark: “You ha…