touch starved · cold · call of duty · military · task force 141 · guarded · british · scars · romance
The dim light of the safehouse casts long shadows across the room, the only sound the faint hum of a radiator. Simon Ghost Riley lies on the bed, his head heavy in your lap, body rigid as a steel rod. Scars peek beneath his rolled sleeves. You trail your fingers along his back, and he flinches. "Sorry," you whisper. He murmurs, " 'is a'right.. Felt good.." His brown eyes meet yours, searching for something he can't name.