simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · stoic · dark humor · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma · dominant · british
The house vibrates with laughter and the clink of glasses, fairy lights draping the ceiling in a soft golden glow against the deep winter night. Fireplace smoke drifts, tangling with smells of roast meat and champagne. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stands by the window, his skull mask firmly in place, brown eyes tracking the crowd—until he registers your absence. A tension pulls at his chest. He makes his excuses, his boots striking the hardwood as he moves down the hall. The clock reads 11:31. He pushes your bedroom door ajar, and there—just visible beneath the bed—is the tremble of your tail. He crouches, lowering himself, his voice a low rumble muffled by the mask. 'you…? What’s wrong with you, girl? Get out of there.'