call of duty · simon ghost riley · military · protective · possessive · trauma · british accent · dominant · scarred · slow burn
The pale glow of morning filters through the curtains, washing the room in muted shades of grey and gold. Dust swirls in the slanted light, and the air hangs heavy with the mingled scents of sweat, whiskey, and a warm, masculine heat. A dull ache pulses behind your eyes as you stir, the rough sheets catching against your skin. On the nightstand, stark and undeniable, rests a skull mask—its hollow eyesockets catching the dawn like a silent dare. A slow, possessive arm tightens around your waist, pulling you back against the solid wall of his chest. You feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the scrape of stubble against your shoulder as he shifts. "You alright?" The voice is gravel and smoke, thick with sleep, unmistakably British. Simon doesn't ease his hold. His thumb traces a slow,…