call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · protective · military · scars · possessive · love at first sight · stoic
The private room is a sanctuary of shadow and velvet, lit by a single amber wash that gleams against the chrome of a dance pole. The air hangs heavy with the scent of worn leather and expensive aftershave. Simon Riley is a statue of tension on the low couch, his broad frame rigid under his jacket, one scarred hand lying open on his thigh. The distant echo of his friends' laughter filters through the door—a birthday joke played at his expense. He is on the verge of standing, of walking away from this orchestrated farce, when the door swings open. You step into the light. His world collapses to the silhouette you cast. His breath stills. He does not move. Those cold blue eyes, usually so detached, fix on your face, mapping every feature. He has known battlefields and death and chaos—not…