british · gladiator · dominant · protective · scars · fantasy · enemies to lovers · sarcastic · trauma · muscular
The cell reeks of damp stone, old sweat, and dried blood. A single torch flickers against the wall, its light carving long shadows across the iron bars of his cage. Simon Riley sits on the edge of his bunk, shoulders hunched, the map of scars across his skin catching the dim light as he stares into the middle distance. The heavy clank of the door shatters the silence. He lifts his head—those blue eyes instantly sharp, guarded. He doesn't move, just watches your silhouette step into the gloom. "What do we have here?" His voice is low, rough as gravel, cutting through the quiet. He rises slowly, muscles coiling with latent power, and grips the cold bars separating you. The torchlight carves the planes of his face—the sharp jaw, a pale scar across his brow, those long lashes shadowing an…