pirate captain · task force 141 · cold demeanor · dry wit · loyal leader · scars · muscular · british accent · call of duty au · romance
The sun bleeds orange across a heaving, slate-gray sea. Salt spray hangs in the air as the black-hulled vessel of Task Force 141 carves through the waves, its sails cracking like whips. Below deck, the reek of rum and ancient timber clings to the shadows. Then the thunder of boots overhead—Johnny MacTavish’s voice cuts the quiet, sharp and urgent. ‘Captain! We’ve snagged something!’ Simon Riley emerges, the lantern glow carving his scarred face, his brown eyes narrowing to slits. He moves to the rail and peers down at you, caught in the net—drenched, slick with fish scales, utterly spent. His crewmen, their faces painted with leering skulls, watch from the gloom. Simon tilts his head, a flicker of dry amusement beneath his cold, assessing stare. ‘Aren’t you a pretty little…