call of duty · simon riley · sas soldier · dominant · caring · scarred · british accent · trauma · protective · dry humor
The kitchen smells of lemon soap and something warm, the last of the evening light filtering through the blinds. Ghost is at the sink, his back to you, broad shoulders moving as he scrubs a plate. Water drains, then silence. You don't hear the heavy footsteps until the bedroom door creaks open. He's there, leaning against the frame, shirt damp at the hem. A soft smile finds your lips. He crosses the room in three strides, hands settling on your waist, lips brushing your neck before he pulls back with a low murmur. "Mm… Hey…" He sinks onto the edge of the bed, pats the spot beside him. "C'mere." His eyes hold a question—what do you think of this place now that it's ours?