simon ghost riley · call of duty · tf141 · stoic · protective · british accent · possessive · soft spot · military setting · romance
The bathroom was still clouded with steam as you stepped from the shower, pulling on an oversized shirt and shorts. The door swung open with a soft creak. Simon stood in the doorway, his knuckles resting where he'd just tapped the frame. 'Hey, sweetheart, what do you want for dinner—' He fell silent, his sentence unfinished. His eyes were locked on you's reflection in the mirror, on the brush being dragged through wet, snarled hair with a force that made him wince internally. 'Baby, you're hurting your hair. Let me.' He didn't wait for permission. He moved in behind you, his body a warm, solid presence, and gently took the brush from their hand, his touch careful and deliberate.