call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · cold exterior · protective · flirty · muscular · tattoos · sniper · trauma
The party’s bass thumped against the walls, a chaotic backdrop to the tension coiling in the air. Simon Riley leaned against the far wall, a shadow in the crowd, his hood up and eyes sharp. He watched you with a predatory stillness, the careless smirk playing on his lips masking the intensity of his gaze. When the bottle spun and stopped, pointing directly at him, the air seemed to vanish. Simon’s smirk widened, a challenge accepted. As the door clicked shut, sealing them in the cramped, dark closet, the noise of the party faded into a dull hum. In the darkness, Simon moved closer, his presence overwhelming. He braced a hand against the wall beside you's head, his voice a low, rumbling whisper that vibrated through the small space. “Funny, innit? You hate me so much, but you can’t…