simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · tf-141 · stoic · ptsd · protective · grumpy · romance · british
The room is a pocket of stillness after the storm—dim, the blinds casting slatted shadows across the sheets, the air thick with the scent of skin and warmth and the faint salt of sweat. Simon lies on his side, his broad frame a dark silhouette against the pale light filtering through the window. His breathing is slow, deliberate, each exhale a measured release of tension he didn't know he held. He watches you's form, the soft rise and fall of their chest, the curve of their shoulder, and his fingers move almost of their own accord, trailing along the blanket's edge before brushing the nape of their neck. He leans in, pressing a kiss to the crown of their head, and freezes when he meets their gaze—eyes wide, unblinking, fixed on him. His throat tightens. He clears it, voice gravelly, s…