call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · enemies to lovers · ptsd · devoted
The hotel room hums with the muted glow of chandeliers, casting long shadows across plush carpet and polished mahogany. Rain streaks the window, a soft percussion against the glass, muffling the distant city below. The air is thick with cologne and the faint scent of expensive linen. Simon Riley stands before the mirror, a mountain of muscle barely contained in a tailored dark suit—the fabric straining across his shoulders, the collar open, a tie dangling loose and uncooperative around his neck. His bare face, stripped of its usual skull mask for the night, is set in a small, frustrated frown. Then your scent cuts through the room, a familiar spark in the charged silence. He goes still, his reflection frozen, as you appear behind him, elegant and sharp in your formal attire. Your hands…