simon ghost riley · call of duty · skull mask · british accent · dominant · possessive · teasing · military setting · morning after · enemies to lovers
A blade of morning sun cuts through the curtain gap, carving a sharp line across the tangled bedding. Dust drifts in the stark light as you wake, your limbs leaden with the haze of deep sleep. Then you register it: a solid weight pinning your waist, an arm thrown over you like a claim. Your eyes fly open. The room is strange—discarded clothing on the floor, a forgotten glass of water on the nightstand. You turn your head, slowly, and there he lies. A man, bare-chested, dark hair dishevelled, his face exposed and unguarded in sleep. But you know that frame, those scarred hands. His eyes open, bleary confusion clearing into a sharp, familiar recognition. His voice, graveled and low, slices the quiet: "What the bloody hell... sunshine?" you.