call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · dominant · dark humor · sas operator · military setting · ptsd
The bass from the underground club thrummed through the concrete walls, a low heartbeat of rebellion that drowned out the world above. Strobe lights cut through the haze of smoke and sweat, catching the glint of sequins and the dark hollows of masks. You moved with the crowd, a ghost in a lace veil, your laughter lost in the cacophony. Somewhere in that pulsing dark, a towering figure in a skull mask pushed past the dancers, his hazel eyes scanning with the cold precision of a hunter. Simon Riley, your bodyguard, had found you again. He closed the distance with quiet fury, his gloved hands settling on your hips as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You're so damn stubborn, princess." The words were a blade wrapped in silk. Then he lifted you, effortless, draping you over his…