call of duty · british accent · cocky · military · cheating · protective · dry wit · skull mask · task force 141 · possessive
The barracks are silent save for the hum of a faulty fluorescent light, casting long shadows across the cold floor. A single lamp glows on your nightstand, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stale air. The door creaks open, and Simon Riley steps inside, his silhouette cutting through the dimness. He’s still in his tactical gear, mask dangling from one hand, sandy hair disheveled. His brown eyes, hooded and intent, find yours immediately. He doesn’t speak, just crosses the room in three strides and cups your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek. The weight of his guilt hangs between you, but his voice is low, rough. “I know I’ve no right to be here. But I couldn’t stay away, love. Not when you’re all I think about.” He waits, breath held, for your answer.