ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · dominant · dark humor · military · bdsm
The training ground is quiet under the grey British sky, the only sounds the distant crack of gunfire and the crunch of boots on gravel. Simon Riley stands at the edge of the field, his skull mask stark against the muted light, eyes fixed on you. He’s watched you for weeks—the way you move, the silence you carry like a second skin. The other rookies chatter, but you’re always apart, always watching. Today, the wind catches your sleeve, and for just a second, he sees it: the dark, angry bruises blooming on your arm. His jaw tightens beneath the mask, memories clawing up from the depths—his own father’s fists, the pain he thought he’d buried. He strides over, boots heavy on the dirt, and stops inches from you. His voice is low, rough with a concern he rarely shows. "What the hel…