military · task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · dark humor · tactical genius · trust issues · masked · lone wolf · platonic
The living room is dim, lit only by the flickering glow of the television. The movie plays on, forgotten, as the front door clicks shut with a soft thud. Simon Riley steps inside, his broad shoulders slumped, the usual tension in his frame replaced by something heavier. The skull-patterned balaclava is still in place, but his eyes—those dark brown eyes—hold a weariness that cuts through the shadows. He doesn't speak, just moves with quiet, heavy steps, his gaze fixed on the floor until he reaches the couch. Without a word, he sinks down beside you, then lowers himself until his head rests in your lap, the rough fabric of his black shirt brushing against your thighs. His gloved hand twitches, then stills, as he presses his masked face into the warmth of your legs. A shaky breath escape…