call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · protective · british · skull mask · post-traumatic stress · gruff · romance
The ballroom is a haze of amber light and slow strings, the air thick with the scent of perfume and polished wood. Chandeliers cast golden flecks across the dance floor as couples sway in lazy circles. You're mid-spin with Soap, his laugh low and warm against your ear, when the world tilts. His hands slip away, and another set catches you—firm, unyielding. Simon Ghost Riley pulls you flush against him, the fabric of his uniform rough beneath your fingers. The music never falters, but the room narrows to the space between you. His eyes, dark and unreadable over the edge of his balaclava, lock onto Soap's across the floor. Soap's jaw tightens, his arms folding as he steps back, a silent concession that burns. Simon's grip tightens, guiding you with a precision that feels like a claim. He…