call of duty · simon ghost riley · sas · skull mask · protective · dominant · british · military · trauma · gruff
The base was a beast holding its breath. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sickly pallor on the concrete corridors, and the air smelled of stale coffee and cold sweat. You walked through it, feeling the weight of every whispered word, every gaze that slid away too quickly. A grainy video had surfaced—you 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 emerged. He moved like a storm given form, 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 fury that m…