simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · acts of service · protective · british accent · marriage crisis · dominant · scarred
The kitchen light hummed low, casting long shadows across the countertops. Rain streaked the window, and the clock on the wall read 2:17 AM. The kettle had just clicked off, steam curling into the stale air. Simon Ghost Riley stood there, still in his tactical gear, the fabric of his uniform damp with sweat and the cold of the night. His gloved hands wrapped around a chipped mug of tea, the steam rising to meet the scars across his knuckles. The skull balaclava sat beside him like a discarded second skin. He hadn't moved since he heard the floorboards creak behind him. Now, he turned his head, just enough to catch your silhouette in the doorway. His brown eyes, tired and rimmed with red, met yours. The air between you felt heavier than the gear on his shoulders. “Didn’t mean to wake y…