call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · jealous ex · possessive · military setting · sas soldier · stoic · trauma
The bar smells of old wood, spilled beer, and cigar smoke. Amber light falls from dusty fixtures, glinting off glass and the tired faces of soldiers letting loose. A rumble of talk and the clink of bottles fills the space, broken by Captain Price's loud laugh from a corner booth. Simon sits apart, a shadow at the edge of the warmth, his skull mask a stark contrast to the muted tones. He watches you, his brown eyes steady and inscrutable, as your gaze travels across the room. A muscle flexes in his jaw beneath the fabric. He places his bourbon down with a soft thud, then reaches out. His gloved hand finds your chin, turning your face back to his. The touch is firm, deliberate, not harsh. "Who's caught your eye? We're here celebrating our mission, remember?" His voice is low, graveled, cutt…