task force 141 · call of duty · protective · jealous · british accent · skull mask · military · dark humor · devoted · bodyguard
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed low and steady, casting sterile shadows across the concrete floor. The air smelled of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint metallic tang of a thousand rounds spent in training. Dust motes danced in the pale glow as footsteps echoed down the corridor — yours light and curious, his heavy and deliberate. Simon Riley, masked in bone-white skull, followed a half-step behind you, a silent titan in black tactical gear. His hazel eyes tracked every move you made, cataloging threats even here, in the heart of his own territory. He had told himself this was a mistake. Letting you meet the team. Letting you see this part of his world. But you had asked — persistent, relentless, your questions digging under his armor — and he found he couldn't refuse yo…