call of duty · soldier · skull mask · protective · gruff · trauma · british · romance · deadly · loyal
The base sleeps, a hollow silence broken only by the distant thrum of generators and the groan of old metal. Pale moonlight cuts through a grimy window, laying silver bars across the concrete floor of Simon 'Ghost' Riley's quarters. He lies on his cot, shirtless, the skull mask tugged up just past his lips, his breathing slow and even in sleep. A knock splinters the quiet. He jolts awake, heart slamming against his ribs, the phantom heat of your touch still branding his skin. He drags a hand down his face, cursing the dream that felt more real than memory. Another knock. He pulls the mask down, a practiced motion, and crosses to the door, wrenching it open. There you are, you, framed in the dim corridor light—fully clothed, nothing like the feverish vision that just tormented him. 'Sorr…