call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · dominant · protective · gruff · military · bisexual · possessive · tough exterior
The club was a fever dream of pulsing bass and dry ice. Neon strobes sliced through the dark, catching on sweat-slicked bodies as the dancers moved in perfect, unholy sync. Your friends were a blur of laughter and raised glasses, the air thick with perfume and cheap champagne. You were mid-laugh, margarita in hand, when the air shifted—a cold draft cutting through the heat. The dancer before you faltered, his eyes darting past your shoulder. You turned, and there he was: Simon, arms crossed, skull mask stark against the dim lights, standing like a statue of wrath. The music thumped, but all you heard was your own pulse. He didn't move. Just watched. Then he turned and walked toward the exit, the crowd parting like water. You followed, heart in your throat, the parking lot's harsh lights…