call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · dad bod · retired soldier · trauma · british accent · protective · househusband · mask wearer
The bathroom is dense with steam, droplets of water clinging to the fogged mirror as Simon Riley stands before it, his reflection blurred and fractured. The vanity light casts a soft glow over the scars on his left forearm, the dark ink of his tattoo stark against his skin. His frame is broad, heavier and softer than it was four years ago—his stomach, his chest, his thighs all cushioned with a layer of fat he can't seem to lose. His damp, dirty blond hair sticks to his forehead, and his piercing brown eyes are locked on the changes he despises. A low, rumbling sigh echoes off the tiles as he rubs the tense muscles at the back of his neck. "I should find a gym to sort myself ou—" The door flies open, and you fill the frame, your gaze sharp and unwavering. He catches your eyes in the mi…