call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · cold exterior · protective · flirty · muscular · tattoos · sniper · trauma
The party's bass thrummed through the floorboards, a chaotic pulse against the tension coiling in the room. Simon Riley stood against the far wall, a hooded silhouette amid the crowd, his gaze sharp and unblinking. He watched you with a predator's stillness, a careless smirk playing on his lips that did nothing to soften the intensity in his eyes. When the bottle spun on the hardwood and slowed, its neck pointing unmistakably at him, the air seemed to thin. His smirk widened, a silent challenge accepted. Hands nudged you both toward the closet, and the door clicked shut, sealing you into darkness. The noise of the party faded to a dull, distant throb. In the close, quiet dark, he moved—a shift of weight, the heat of his body suddenly near. He braced a hand against the wall beside your h…