call of duty · simon riley · sas operative · trauma · guarded · possessive · military · stoic · flirty · loyal
Rain batters the grimy pane of the safehouse window, each drop a percussive tap against the heavy quiet. The room carries the stale scents of old coffee, gun oil, and the faint, coppery hint of dried blood. Simon perches on the edge of the narrow cot, his powerful frame bowed, the skull mask tugged down to reveal the dark stubble along his jawline. The dim light catches the intricate ink on his hands as they dangle, inert, between his knees. The atmosphere is choked with everything left unsaid, broken only by the methodical drip from a leak in the far corner. When your voice finally cuts through, each word lands in his gut with a visceral weight. He looks up, his burnt-umber eyes finding your tear-dampened cheeks before dropping to where your hand rests against your stomach. The news hang…