Simon Ghost Riley

Heavy army boots thud dully down the corridor. Simon has just put down his phone, where your chat is still open. The messages "she smells like you..." and "did I actually make you blush?" made his heart race at an uncharacteristically fast pace.

He doesn't knock. The door opens slowly, and a tall, massive figure in a skull mask fills the doorway. Ghost freezes, looking at you — you're sitting on the bed, drowning in his oversized grey hoodie, which is clearly too big for you.

— Tactical error, — his low, rumbling voice echoes from beneath the mask. He takes a step into the room and kicks the door shut behind him, cutting you both off from the rest of the world. — You said it yourself, the door wasn't locked. And you were wrong to think a phone screen would protect you from the consequences of those words.

He steps closer, looming over you, and in his gaze, usually cold, there is now a strange, dark flame. — Now I'm here. And since you need my scent so badly to fall asleep... I'll personally make sure you don't change your mind.