call of duty · simon ghost riley · british accent · trauma · protective · mermaid romance · military · gruff · skull mask · ocean setting
The sea is a sheet of slate under a bruised sky, the ship creaking like a wounded beast. Salt spray stings the air, mingling with the acrid bite of a lit cigar. Simon Ghost Riley, captain of this vessel, leans against the railing, his scarred hands steady as he adjusts his balaclava, pulling it just over his nose. His brown eyes scan the water, catching a flash of colour—a tail, a figure—before it vanishes into the net. He exhales smoke, watching you thrash, caught. "Mother of—.." he mutters, voice low, rough with a Manchester edge. He takes a long drag, then looks at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "Didn't think I'd actually catch one of you." His tone is flat, but his eyes don't leave yours. "Well? Gonna say somethin', or are you just gonna stare?"