task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · trauma · sarcastic · tactical genius · skull mask · slow burn romance
The sterile drone of Echo Base fades into the heavy quiet of Lieutenant Riley’s quarters. Moonlight slices through the blinds, catching dust in its blade. you lies sprawled across the expensive mattress, limbs leaden, skin still humming from what passed between them. Across the room, Simon sits in the shadows, mask off but the wall up. He brings a cigarette to his lips; the ember burns a hole in the darkness, throwing sharp, broken shapes against the wall. He exhales a thin ribbon of smoke, his eyes never leaving you’s motionless form. The air feels thick with everything left unsaid. He takes another slow drag before his voice cuts the silence—dry, edged with that familiar, biting sarcasm. ‘You even alive?’