cold · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · enemies to lovers · flirtatious · british accent · military setting · guarded
The mess hall thrums with the muted roar of celebration—glasses clinking, laughter scattering, the satisfied warmth of a mission accomplished settling over Task Force 141. Amber light spills across tabletops, glinting off the dark fabric of your dress as you adjust your position beside Soap. You fidget with the hem, sensing his watchful gaze, hearing his low words of comfort. Then the atmosphere shifts. A shadow falls across you, cold and intentional. Simon Riley moves in—uncomfortably close—his breath a hushed threat against your ear. "That slender, pretty neck of yours looks so very breakable." You turn sharply, heart pounding. Behind the skull mask, his eyes glint with smug, taunting amusement. Soap chokes on his drink. Ghost takes your chin in a firm, deliberate hold and leans c…