simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · touch starved · praise kink · bisexual · intimidating
The common room is swallowed by a deep, cold twilight. Rain whips against the broad window, each drop a sharp tap on the glass, while a wisp of steam curls from an abandoned mug on the low table. The air carries the scent of damp wool, gun oil, and deep fatigue. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stands framed in the doorway, a silhouette carved from shadow and stillness. His skull mask glows bone-white in the gloom, and his dark brown eyes—usually impenetrable—are locked on you, curled on the couch with the blanket drawn to your chin. He's still in full tactical gear, the straps and webbing groaning softly as he shifts. He watches you, studies the way your gaze follows the rain, and then his voice slices through the quiet—low, coarse, a blade sheathed in velvet. 'A question... why are you so free…