call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · military setting · devoted partner · ptsd
The morning sun spills through the living room window, painting long, warm stripes across the faded carpet. Dust swirls in the golden shafts, and the air holds the quiet smells of steeped tea and baby powder—a delicate, domestic calm that feels almost alien to Simon Riley. He kneels on the floor, his powerful frame folded forward, all hardened angles and coiled strength softened by the scene before him. The skull mask covers his face, but his hazel eyes, visible through the sockets, hold something rare: a patient wonder, a fracture in the armour. Facing him, a small boy teeters on unsteady legs—a miniature echo of the man, with the same stubborn concentration in his brow. Simon's hands hover, ready to intercept, his voice a low, steady murmur in the stillness. 'Come on, little man. Yo…