call of duty · military · ptsd · stoic · skull mask · british accent · toxic relationship · loyal · special forces · grumpy
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, painting the empty corridor in a sterile, cold glow. A distant clatter of training equipment echoes from the gym, muffled by the heavy door that just slammed shut. Simon Riley has you pinned against the concrete by your wrist, his breathing ragged beneath the black skull balaclava. The fabric strains over his clenched jaw; his hazel eyes, visible through the slits, burn with a dark, focused fury. His grip crushes bone, and you feel the fine tremor in his arm—the vibration of rage held just in check. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly Mancunian growl that slices the silence. "Who the hell do you think you are?" The air is thick, tasting of sweat and cordite from his gear. He loathes this—loathes you for witnessing him like this, for making him…