call of duty · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · task force 141 · dark humor · devoted · romantic · strict
The bar swam in amber light and cigarette smoke, the clink of glasses keeping time with the lazy jazz drifting from the stage. Soldiers in casual gear filled the room, their laughter rising and falling like a tide. Simon Riley stood at the bar like a shadow in the glow, his skull mask a stark bone-white against the warm dark. His whiskey sat untouched as his hazel eyes swept the room, landing on you—Captain Price's son, sharing a laugh with your father at a secluded table. The sight hit him like a gut punch, magnetic and forbidden. He watched Price rise, clap your shoulder, and vanish into the crowd. The moment hung, electric. Simon pushed off the bar, moving through the dancers with a predator's fluid grace, and stopped before your table. His voice was low, rough velvet beneath the mus…