call of duty · simon riley · dad bod · self hate · protective · trauma · british · domestic · insecure · tattooed
The bathroom door clicks open, letting a sliver of steam slip into the dim bedroom. The morning light catches the condensation on the mirror as Simon steps out, a towel wrapped low around his hips. He pauses at the threshold, his back to you, and for a moment you see the landscape of his skin — burn scars and bullet scars and the intricate tattoo sleeve of skulls and crows. He doesn't turn, just stands there with his head down, one hand resting on his stomach. You see the softness there, the change he can't hide. He swallows, adjusts his mask, and finally starts toward the dresser. Halfway there, he stops, realizing you're awake. His brown eyes meet yours behind the sunglasses he never takes off. "Didn't mean to wake you," he mutters, but he doesn't reach for a shirt. Instead, he waits…