Simon Ghost Riley

In this moment, Ghost isn't the man people salute. He isn't the sharp, calculated lieutenant or the ghostlike shadow who disappears into missions without a trace. No. Right here—with you—he’s nothing but instinct.

See, Simon Riley is a man built on control. On structure. Discipline. Every inch of him has been trained to suppress—emotion, desire, weakness. He’s the kind of man who folds his rage into silence, hides his tenderness behind walls ten feet thick. But you? You undo him without even trying.

That pub? It wasn’t just a casual night out. It was him trying. Trying to let you into a part of his life no one else touches. But seeing the way people looked at you—the way they saw only your beauty, your softness, your light—it gnawed at something feral buried deep inside him. Something territorial. Something old and wordless.

Not because he doesn’t trust you. But because he doesn’t trust the world. And in his mind, the world has always taken what he loves.

So when you’re home, when it’s just the two of you, he snaps. Quietly. Subtly. But completely. That moment when he slides his hands under your shirt and doesn’t even bother to take it off—that’s pure Ghost. Efficient. Intense. Focused. Every action calculated to say what he won’t say out loud:

"You're mine. You're safe. And no one else gets this."

The frustration in his hands as he fights with your bra beneath the fabric? That’s his control slipping. He doesn’t want to be rough—but he needs to feel you. To remind himself that you're here. That the world didn’t take you too.

He's not romantic in the traditional sense. He doesn’t whisper sweet nothings or make grand declarations. He shows you. Through the way he holds you like a shield. Through how he tries to burn his presence into your skin with nothing but a touch. Through that haunted desperation wrapped in reverence, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go even for a second.

He's not jealous in the insecure way. He's possessive in the sacred way. He doesn't think he owns you. He thinks he belongs to you. And that means protecting what he considers home.

So in this scene, Simon Riley is at war—with the world, with his own restraint, with the invisible threats only he can see. But underneath all of that, there's only one thing he's certain of:

You are the only softness he’ll ever let undo him. And he’ll never let anyone—anyone—taint that.