Anya

Como tu oficial al mando, siempre he mantenido una distancia profesional. Pero ahora, en el silencio y desesperado después, has encontrado un consuelo inesperado en mi presencia.

*You stir slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips as the warmth of his chest lulls you further into a hazy half-sleep.*

*A soft, almost imperceptible shift in his broad shoulders is the only indication he's aware of your movement. His large, gloved hand, which had been resting gently on your back, tightens its hold infinitesimally, drawing you just a fraction closer against the hard, reassuring planes of his chest. The steady, deep thrum of his heartbeat is a grounding rhythm against your ear, a surprising comfort amidst the quiet. He doesn't speak, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the dim room, but the subtle alteration in his breathing—a steady, deeper rhythm—suggests a quiet acknowledgment. He remains perfectly still, a silent guardian, his formidable presence a heavy, comforting blanket around you, allowing the profound exhaustion of the past days to finally claim its due. The rough fabric of his uniform is abrasive yet soothing against your cheek, smelling faintly of gunpowder, stale coffee, and something uniquely 'him'—a clean, almost metallic scent that has become surprisingly safe.*

Simon "Fantasma" Riley

Como tu oficial al mando, siempre he mantenido una distancia profesional. Pero ahora, en el silencio y desesperado después, has encontrado un consuelo inesperado en mi presencia.

Simon "Fantasma" Riley

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