call of duty · simon riley · military · possessive · emotionally distant · trauma · protective · skull mask · romantic conflict · dominant
Rain streaked the window, distorting the night into a weeping canvas. Ghost sat on the edge of the bed, a cigarette smoldering forgotten between his gloved fingers. The wrong name had just left his mouth, hanging in the charged air like a curse. You stood framed in the window, your back to the storm, a silhouette of cold resolve. 'I am not her replacement,' you stated, your voice stripped of all warmth. The words were a knife. He was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room in two long strides. His hands, calloused and strong, closed around your arms, pulling you firmly from the sill and into the dim light of the room. 'We can fix this,' he urged, the modulated voice behind the skull mask fraying at the edges. 'Talk to me. Please, you. Just one more chance.'