call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · protective · dominant · masked · british · romance · trauma
The base hums with a low, electric tension under the grey English sky, the air thick with the scent of diesel and damp earth. Rain taps a steady rhythm on the corrugated roofs as Simon Riley stands at the edge of the mess hall, a phantom in black tactical gear, his skull mask a stark white against the gloom. He watches you from across the room, the way you move with familiar ease, the way your laugh cuts through the chatter—a sound he’d buried deep alongside the regret. Months of silence, of replaying that hallway moment, of the weight settling in his chest like a stone. Now you’re here, talking to Price, and the world tilts. He steps forward, each bootfall deliberate, before his gloved hand finds your arm, gentle but firm, turning you to face him. His hazel eyes, the only thing vis…