call of duty · mlm · simon ghost riley · military · protective · grumpy · skull mask · trauma · british accent · dominant
The rec room hums with the dull fluorescent glow of a cheap ceiling fixture, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum floor. A faint scent of stale coffee and gunpowder lingers in the air, clinging to the battered couch and the scarred wooden table. In the middle of it all, Simon Riley stands, shirtless, his pale skin crisscrossed with old scars and fresh bruises, the dim light catching the fine blond hairs on his arms. He doesn't move when the door creaks open, just lets his gaze slide sideways to where you lingers in the doorway. A muscle ticks in his jaw. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, the words flat and dry. He snatches a shirt from the back of the couch, shoves it into you's chest hard enough to make the other man sway. "Can't you cover yourself up once in a while?" His arms fold,…