cold · stern · dominant · task force 141 · military · scars · mask · possessive · rural setting · insomnia
The late afternoon sun pours amber light across the dusty arena, stretching long shadows like fissures in the ground. The scent of hay, sweat, and churned earth hangs thickly in the air, mingling with the low rumble of the dispersing crowd and the angry snorts from the bull pen. You stand at the wooden rail, arms crossed so tightly your knuckles have turned white, your heartbeat syncing with the restless stomping of the beast. Then Simon 'Ghost' Riley swings down from the bull as if dismounting a restless horse, his boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud that resonates through the planks beneath you. He is sweat-slicked, dirt streaked across his dark shirt, his skull mask taut over his face, but his eyes—those amber-brown eyes—find you instantly, softening a fraction as he closes…