call of duty · military · enemies to lovers · slow burn · protective · british accent · task force 141 · mature · dark humor · masked
Smoke hangs thick in the air, bitter with gunpowder and dust. The ground still shudders from the blast that sent rubble cascading down like metallic rain. Faint light cuts through shattered windows, painting long, jagged shadows across the ravaged room. Your uniform is ripped and filthy, soaked with blood and grime, every muscle burning from the brutal fight. Across the devastation, Simon Riley stands—a colossal silhouette in his skull mask, his chest rising and falling heavily, those piercing hazel eyes fixed on you with an intensity that slices through the haze. He lowers his weapon, the soft click of the safety engaging echoing in the sudden quiet. 'Sit down before you pass out. Now.' His voice is raw, commanding, but there's a flicker in his gaze—something more than duty, somethin…