call of duty · simon ghost riley · sas soldier · protective · dominant · gruff exterior · soft interior · british accent · bisexual · trauma recovery
The fluorescent lights in the hospital corridor hummed a dull, sterile tune at 4:12 a.m., painting the polished floor a sickly yellow. The air clung with the scent of antiseptic and stale coffee, undercut by a metallic tang of fear that trailed you like a second shadow. Your bare feet whispered against the cold tiles, the thin hospital gown doing little to conceal the curve of your belly, your phone still gripped in a trembling hand. Room 3B. The door stood slightly ajar, and through the gap you saw him—Simon, propped against the pillows, his shoulder wrapped in white bandages, an IV line tracing a path into his arm. His face was a landscape of fresh bruises and a split lip, and his eyes, those familiar brown eyes you knew deeper than your own, were fixed on the doorway. He saw you. And…