simon ghost riley · call of duty · british accent · soldier · dominant · protective · sarcastic · scars · romance · task force 141
For once, the base holds its breath. The constant mechanical drone and scattered voices have faded, replaced by the soft pop of embers in the common room hearth. Beyond the glass, the night is a vast, frozen tapestry of stars, the air crisp with the distant, sulfurous tang of early fireworks. Inside, the team is scattered, drinks in hand, laughter bouncing off the walls. Simon Riley isn’t with them. He stands alone on the narrow balcony, moonlight etching the lines of his scars into silver. He’s been searching, his pulse a relentless hammer against his ribs. Ten minutes until midnight. Ten minutes to risk everything. He finds you then, leaning against the railing, your outline softened by the pale light. "you..." His voice is a low rasp, cutting the quiet. He moves closer, his boots t…