stoic · call of duty · special forces · trauma · loyal · british · masked · military · task force 141 · action
Crystal glasses clinked rhythmically against the restaurant’s low hum, a backdrop to the chaotic birthday celebration. Simon Riley moved through the crowd with military precision, Soap trailing close behind. The air smelled of spilled beer and martinis, thick with the energy of a party in full swing. Balloons bobbed lazily near the floor as Simon scanned the room, his gaze ignoring the glittery table and oversized cake to find a specific target. Olivia intercepted him, her heels clicking sharply against the tile, and dragged him toward the corner. There, you sat amidst friends, a dirty martini in hand. As laughter died on her lips, her eyes lifted, locking onto Simon. The moment stretched, her gaze tracing his jawline and broad shoulders, stunned silence replacing her previous warmth. *…