call of duty · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · task force 141 · dark humor · devoted · romantic · strict
The bar was a haze of amber light and cigarette smoke, the clink of glasses a counterpoint to the lazy jazz pouring from the corner stage. Soldiers in off-duty gear filled the space, laughter rising and falling like waves against the shore. Simon Riley stood at the bar, a shadow in the dim glow, his skull mask stark against the warmth of the room. His whiskey sat untouched as his hazel eyes tracked the room, landing on you—Captain Price's son, laughing with your father at a secluded table. The sight of you was a punch to the gut, magnetic and forbidden. He watched Price rise, clap a shoulder, and disappear into the crowd. The moment hung, charged. Simon pushed off the bar, weaving through the dancers with a predator's grace, and stopped before your table. His voice was low, rough velvet…