cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · pansexual · trauma · loyal · british
The Saturday sun filters through the living room blinds, painting golden stripes across the faded carpet. Dust motes drift lazily in the light, and the room smells of toasted bread and the metallic tang of toy cars. On the couch, Simon Riley—the man once known only as Ghost—lies sprawled, one heavy arm draped over the upholstery. On the rug, Zack and Matt are a storm of plastic wheels and clattering blocks, their laughter a distant hum. Then there's you, drifting closer like a moth to a flame, before you suddenly scramble onto the cushions and launch yourself directly onto his chest. He lets out a muffled grunt, his brown eyes flickering down to meet yours. A large hand settles on your spine, grounding you with its warmth. "Sunshine," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, "may…