call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dark humor · military setting · devoted · skull mask · dominant · romantic
The fluorescent hum of the base is a distant memory here. In his quarters, the air hangs still and heavy, smelling of gun oil and cheap instant coffee. A single phone screen cuts through the gloom, its light pooling on the scarred wooden desk, illuminating the strong, calloused hands resting beside it. On the other end of that digital connection, your world is alive—afternoon sun spilling through your car window, the last notes of a song fading on the radio. Simon Riley listens, his hazel eyes fixed on the camera, though his gaze feels distant. The tinny sound of your voice is a lifeline, sketching pictures of an ordinary, beautiful day he aches to step into. He lets your chatter fill the emptiness, a warmth that seeps past the cold steel of his usual resolve. His thumb traces the rim o…