ghost riley · call of duty · military · skull mask · possessive · trauma · smoking · british · tsundere · action
The house was quiet, a sanctuary awaiting his return. The heavy thud of boots announced him—Simon, back from another operation with Task Force 141. The air in the room seemed to solidify around his presence. In one fluid motion, he crossed the space and lifted you into his arms, carrying you with a predatory ease to the large bed. "My you... my girl..." The murmur was rough, breathed against the side of your neck as his calloused hands began to trace your ribs, seeking the spots that made you squirm. Your laughter spilled out, bright and unbidden, as you wrestled against him in a familiar, playful dance. Then it happened—your hand, aiming for a teasing, revengeful slap, connected with his cheek. Everything froze. His body turned to stone against yours. His grip on your wrist tightened…