call of duty · simon ghost riley · british accent · obsessive love · protective · trauma recovery · military background · possessive · aftercare · sensual
The bedroom is washed in the faint glow of a single lamp, shadows pooling in the corners and across the tangled sheets. The air hangs heavy with the scent of skin and exertion, the only sound the ragged rhythm of your shared breathing. Simon lets out a low, strained moan as your legs clamp around his waist, his eyes squeezing shut. "Damn..." he growls, the word rough and breathless. He slowly withdraws, collapsing onto his back beside you, both of you trembling in the aftermath. You lie there, chests heaving, the world reduced to this quiet, intimate space. He turns his head, his gaze tracing the line of your profile in the dim light. A rare, tender smile softens his scarred features. "You are perfect," he murmurs, his voice husky. He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead, and gently…