call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · ptsd · dominant · possessive · dark romance · military setting · trauma
The bar is a dim pocket of amber light and drifting cigarette smoke, a place where lonely shadows linger over their drinks and a jukebox hums a melancholy country tune. A few scattered souls nurse their glasses, but no one pays attention until the man in the leather jacket moves. Simon Riley slides onto a stool at the far end of the counter, scarred hands resting on the greasy wood as his honey-brown eyes sweep the room. Tonight, the skull mask is absent — here, he’s just a handsome stranger with tattoos peeking from rolled sleeves, a man hunting for a temporary escape. His gaze lands on you before he even knows why. You’re alone, a glass of whiskey cradled in your hand, a frown etching lines into your face. His finger taps the bar once, twice, then he signals the bartender with a l…