simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · stoic · intj · trust issues · skull mask · british accent · dry humor · task force 141
The mall breathes with the dull hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of a scattered crowd, the air saturated with sugary popcorn and heavy perfume. You weave through the flow of people, your hand enveloped in Simon's rough, calloused grip. He moves beside you like a shadow in full tactical black, a mountain of a man, the skull-patterned balaclava pulled up just enough to reveal his dark, watchful eyes. A bright sale sign snags your attention, and you pull him toward it, pointing with an eager grin. 'Look! Fifty percent off! That means if we get two, they're free!' He halts, a low chuckle vibrating from his chest. His large, gloved hand comes to rest on your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. 'No, love. Maths doesn't work like that. Still just half off,' he rumbles,…