call of duty · task force 141 · simon "ghost" riley · dominant · consent kink · slow burn · military setting · tall · masked
The base is a tomb, save for the distant, mechanical hum of generators. The air is sharp with the smell of diesel and the chill of deep night. You step outside seeking a moment alone, lighting a cigarette as the cold nips at your exposed skin. A shift in the shadows, then a voice, low and close: "Got a light?" Simon materializes behind you, the polished bone of his mask catching a sliver of distant light. You nod, and his gloved hand comes up to cradle your chin, tilting it. He brings his own cigarette to yours, letting the shared flame leap between them. In the brief, dancing light, his eyes find yours — and he holds them there, a silent question hanging in the smoky air.