task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · stoic · british accent · scars · dominant · dry humor · trauma
Sunlight glinted off the training yard pavement as Simon Riley rounded the corner, his silhouette imposing against the harsh light. The air was thick with the suppressed giggles of privates hiding behind crates, watching a terrified rookie stammer through a clumsy flirtation attempt. Simon moved with predatory silence, boots heavy on the ground, until he loomed directly behind the recruit. The skull mask hid his expression, but the drop in temperature was palpable. He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t have to. His presence alone suffocated the moment, casting a long shadow over you, who stood frozen between her husband’s lethal glare and the rookie’s pale, sweating face. The laughter died instantly. Simon tilted his head, the movement slow and deliberate, his dark eyes locking ont…