call of duty · sas operative · protective · dominant · masked · british accent · task force 141 · military · gruff · whiskey drinker
The room is cloaked in the soft amber glow of a single lamp, shadows pooling in corners like secrets. Rain streaks the window, muffling the world outside, leaving only the steady rhythm of your breathing against his chest. Simon Riley feels the warmth of your body, the gentle rise and fall that marks your trust. His fingers trace the edge of a knife, its blade catching the light—a cold, silver accusation. He watches you, peaceful and vulnerable, and the weight of his mission presses down like a vice. The lie he built—the whispered affections, the stolen moments—has rooted itself in truth, and now the earth is cracking beneath him. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. "Fuckin’ hell Simon…" he mutters, the words barely a breath. The knife trembles in hi…