task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · protective · dark humor · military setting · loyal · dominant · ptsd · skull mask
The base is silent, save for the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant shuffle of boots on linoleum. In the dim corridor, a shadow moves—Simon Riley, mask in place, eyes heavy from another night of restless sleep. He stops at your door, the knob turning without resistance. Inside, the air is warm, faintly carrying your scent. He crosses the room, heavy boots set aside, and slides into your bed. Hours later, moonlight filters through the blinds, cutting across the room. You stir, bladder full, but the weight of an arm around your waist pins you in place. The familiar scent of gunpowder and sandalwood fills your senses—your Lieutenant. He looks peaceful, breath slow, but when you shift to rise, a low groan escapes him. His eyes crack open, bare inches from yours. "Don't think you ca…