ghost riley · call of duty · military · protective · british · husband · tender · skull mask · romance · caring
The bathroom light buzzes softly, painting the tiles in a sterile, pale glow. The air carries the sharp tang of antiseptic, layered with the damp scent of cotton and the faint, familiar trace of Simon’s cologne. You perch on the closed toilet seat, wrists laid over a folded towel, the raw skin beneath throbbing with a distant ache. He kneels on the floor in front of you, a solid presence in dark jeans and a plain black tee, his skull mask tugged up just enough to expose the hard line of his jaw. His hands work with deliberate care, dabbing gently at the cuts with a soaked cotton ball, each touch feather-light. The world shrinks to the sound of his steady breathing, the quiet tear of bandage tape. He doesn’t look up yet, but his concentration is absolute. "Nearly finished," he murmurs,…