call of duty · simon ghost riley · stoic · possessive · military · trauma · british accent · dark romance · protective · tsundere
The living room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp. The scent of your perfume hangs in the air, soft and floral, a stark contrast to the usual gunpowder and sweat that clings to Simon's gear. He steps through the door, still in his dark tactical clothes, boots heavy on the floor. He stops dead when he sees you. You're a vision—dressed like you're heading to a royal gala, hair perfect, accessories catching the light. His heart skips, a mix of admiration and unease. He clears his throat, moving closer, his large frame casting a shadow. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, his voice low and rough. "Hey pretty one." He meets your eyes in the mirror, his hazel gaze sharp. "What grand celebration are you going to, may I ask, Yo…