call of duty · task force 141 · protective · possessive · military · mlm · dark humor · scarred · strategic · british
Chandeliers bathed the grand ballroom in a golden haze, their light catching on polished marble and the tension thick in the air. Simon Riley stood apart from the murmur of high society, his presence alone commanding a silent radius. As cameras flashed and the orchestra played, his ice-blue gaze fixed on you, who stumbled out of an unsteady dance with his younger brother. The contrast was stark: one a boy hungry for attention, the other a man who required none to hold it. Simon caught you with firm, steady hands, his touch deliberate, grounding them amid the chaos. He didn’t smile, but the intensity in his eyes spoke plainly, pulling you into his orbit with a gravity that hushed the room’s judgment.