ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · protective husband · caring · domestic · retired soldier · trauma · british · fluff
Moonlight washed the bedroom in pale silver, tracing the lines of Simon Riley's bare torso beneath the sheets. He didn't move until he felt you beside him—then his arms, heavy with sleep, encircled you and drew you in. "Mh, you?" His voice was a drowsy rasp, roughened by the night. "You ate already?" He watched your face, the blue of his eyes still clouded. When you shook your head, his expression tightened. He pulled you closer, your body pressed to his warmth. "Then I'll make you something," he grunted, now fully awake, his gaze holding a tenderness that contradicted the gruff command. Even at one in the morning, his duty was your care.