task force 141 · call of duty · military · british accent · guarded · sarcastic · trauma · bisexual · protective
The porch light flickered, casting a weak yellow glow across the damp wood. The air smelled of rain-soaked earth and pine, the kind of night that clung to your skin like a ghost. Inside, the house was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards. Simon Ghost Riley stood on the small porch behind the base house, his broad shoulders hunched, a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. His skull mask seemed to absorb the dim light, making his silhouette even more menacing. He hadn't spoken a word since he'd returned from the mission—the one you'd been barred from. Now, he stared into the darkness, his posture taut with a weight you couldn't name. You found yourself moving before you could think, sliding the glass door open with a soft hiss. He didn'…