call of duty · task force 141 · masked man · protective · dominant · military · british accent · gruff · trauma · romantic
The library smelled of old paper and dust, sunlight slanting through the tall windows in golden bars. Outside, the town was quiet—too quiet for a man like Simon Riley. He stood by the fiction section, pretending to scan a spine, but his eyes kept drifting to the table near the back. You were there, as you always seemed to be these days, your head bent over a book, fingers tracing the pages. He’d told you his name was Brian, a simple farmer looking for peace. He’d told you a lot of things. And now, back in the dim light of his rented room, that lie lay shattered on the bedside table—the military ID card he’d forgotten to hide. His jaw tightened beneath the skull mask he’d worn for years, the one you’d never seen. He could still feel the weight of your trust, the way you’d l…