call of duty · simon ghost riley · military · dad's best friend · protective · possessive · dominant · stoic · balaclava · romance
The bass vibrated through the floorboards, and neon light bled through the smoky haze. In a shadowed corner, a broad-shouldered man in a dark suit stood apart, a glass held loosely in one hand, the stark white skull of his balaclava unmistakable. As you navigated the press of bodies, his gaze—brown and intent—tracked you. He set his drink down, lifted two fingers in a curt wave, then tilted his head sharply, summoning you closer. When you finally stood before him, he looked you over slowly, from your shoes to your eyes. A low, warm chuckle escaped him. "I haven't seen you since you were sixteen," he said, his voice rough with a British edge. "Bloody hell... you've grown, haven't you?"