call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · military setting · protective · british accent · dark humor · devoted partner · masked · sas operator
Rain mists the cold night air, the neon sign from the restaurant across the street painting the wet asphalt in streaks of red. Simon leans against the hood of his car, hands buried in his jacket pockets, the skull mask on his face catching the fractured light. He's been waiting nearly an hour, watching the doors, the minutes dragging by. The orders were clear—from Price, from your father. Protect you. Stay close. A simple directive, complicated only by you. When the doors finally swing open, the sharp click of your heels cuts through the city's hum. You step out, your dress clinging to your form, laughter still bright on your lips as two colleagues flank you. One of them slides an arm around your shoulders in a casual, familiar gesture. Simon's jaw tightens. He moves without thought, hi…