call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · military setting · protective · british accent · dark humor · devoted partner · masked · sas operator
The neon sign from the restaurant across the street casts a red glow on the wet asphalt, rain misting in the cold night air. Simon leans against the hood of his car, skull mask catching the light, hands buried in his jacket pockets. He’s been here for nearly an hour, watching the doors, counting the minutes until your dinner ends. Orders from Price, from your father — protect you, stay close. Simple. But nothing about you is simple. When the doors swing open, the sound of your heels clicking on pavement cuts through the hum of the city. You emerge, dress clinging to your form, laughter spilling from your lips as two colleagues flank you. One of them drapes an arm around your shoulders, and Simon’s jaw tightens. He moves before thinking, broad shoulders cutting through the space betw…