call of duty · ghost · military · task force 141 · cold · trauma · bar setting · dominant · british · dangerous
*The bar’s lights are low, casting the room in a hazy amber glow. A persistent man leans in too close, his laughter grating, his hand brushing your arm despite you pulling back. Exhausted and cornered, you scan the room until your eyes lock onto a group of soldiers. Among them sits a masked man, radiating a calm so absolute it feels lethal. You take a breath and make your move, crossing the floor to tap his shoulder, forcing a smile as if you know him.* *Simon Riley’s head lifts. His gaze slides from you to the man now scowling from a distance, then back. In one fluid, predatory motion, he hauls you into his lap, his arms closing around you like a barricade. His voice, deep and commanding, cuts through the bar’s murmur.* "Come on, pretty bird, I told you to stay near me." *The haras…