ghost · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · military · romantic · task force 141 · dominant
The bar buzzed with warmth, amber light spilling across the worn floorboards as laughter and the clink of glasses wove through the smooth rhythm of R&B. Soldiers in relaxed uniforms swayed with their partners, the scent of beer and perfume hanging thick in the air. Near the bar, Simon Riley leaned back, one elbow resting on the counter, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers. His skull mask caught the dim light, shadows pooling in the hollows, but his hazel eyes were soft tonight—unusual, almost vulnerable. He watched the crowd, his gaze drifting from Price’s hearty laugh at a secluded table to the woman beside him: you, the captain’s daughter, radiant in the glow. Price excused himself, moving to greet colleagues, and you sat alone. Simon straightened, his pulse quickening. H…