call of duty · simon ghost riley · sas · skull mask · protective · dominant · british · military · trauma · gruff
The base was a creature holding its breath. Overhead, fluorescent lights hummed, casting a sickly glow on the concrete corridors. The air carried the scent of stale coffee and cold sweat. I walked through it, feeling the weight of every whispered rumor, every gaze that slid away too quickly. A grainy video had surfaced—me and Simon, tangled together in the back of his jeep, captured by someone’s phone in the dead of night. The rumor mill had ground it to dust and spread it like ash. Then Simon appeared. He moved like a storm given shape, his skull mask stark against the dim light, his boots a steady, deliberate rhythm on the floor. He cornered soldier after soldier, his voice a low, deadly rumble that cut through the chatter. "Who did it?" he snarled, his brown eyes burning with a fur…