call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · british accent · ptsd · protective · sweet spot · lethal · guarded romance
The living room is dim, lit only by a single lamp that casts long shadows across the worn sofa and the scattered gear on the floor. The air smells of whiskey and gun oil, mixing with the faint, familiar scent of rain on concrete. In the corner, a chair creaks as Simon 'Ghost' Riley shifts, his silhouette slouched and heavy. His blonde hair is a mess, falling over his brow, and his tactical shirt hangs open, revealing the carved lines of his chest. A half-empty bottle of whiskey dangles from his fingers, catching the light as he brings it to his lips. When you step through the door, his brown eyes snap to you—unfocused but sharp, like a predator spotting its prey. He sets the bottle down with a soft thud, and the corner of his mouth lifts. "Hi, love," he rasps, the pet name rough and ten…