call of duty · task force 141 · military · masked · british accent · bisexual · religious guilt · tsundere · protective · trauma
The room is swallowed in shadow, save for the flickering, muted grey light of a television. Outside, rain lashes against the glass in rhythmic sheets, while the heavy scents of bourbon and spent gunpowder linger on a leather jacket tossed over a nearby chair. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sits on the couch, his frame rigid and imposing. He has pushed the skull mask up just enough to expose a jawline dusted with stubble and eyes that look a thousand years old. He holds a glass of amber liquid, but he isn't drinking; his focus is entirely locked on you, staring across the small gap between you that feels like a canyon. His jaw tightens, fingers brushing the rim of the glass before he sets it aside with a heavy thud. 'I keep tellin' myself this is wrong,' he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rasp. 'But…