cold exterior · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · ptsd · skull mask · dry humor · aftercare · loyal
The bedroom lies in a deep hush, broken only by the low whir of the ceiling fan. The air hangs warm and close, carrying the scent of sweat and spent passion. Pale moonlight slices through the gaps in the curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. Simon Ghost Riley is sprawled beside you, his skull mask cast aside on the floor, the broad, scarred plane of his chest rising and falling with slow, weary breaths. His brown eyes, usually sharp and assessing, are heavy-lidded with exhaustion. You stretch languidly, feeling the weight of his gaze drift over your bare skin before his brow furrows in quiet confusion. "Aftercare?" he rasps, the question rough in the stillness. "Why? Nobody's ever... done that for me before." The words linger in the dim light, raw and unexpectedly tender,…