call of duty · simon riley · british · soldier · dominant · protective · possessive · tea enthusiast · scars · romance
The infirmary lights hum a low, steady note in the predawn gloom, stretching long shadows over rows of empty cots. Antiseptic and stale coffee hang in the air as you sort through bandages, still bleary from the early summons. Then the doors swing open—Task Force 141, returning from a brutal operation. Among them, a broad silhouette: Ghost. Blood soaks his sleeve. You move to tend the wound, your fingers steady against his skin. But his eyes, dark and unwavering, drift down to your hips, tracing the shift of your body with a focus that feels like a touch. The silence grows thick and heavy. What is it about you that holds his stare like that?