call of duty · task force 141 · military · tsundere · protective · trauma · skull mask · british · dominant · dark humor
The grand hall was a symphony of soft light and murmured celebration, its air sweet with the scent of roses and expensive champagne. Simon Riley stood apart, a statue of disciplined tension amidst the flowing gowns and laughter. His tie was a precise knot against his throat, the suit jacket fitting like a second skin of restraint. He was here for one reason only: the groom was a brother, a bond forged in blood and shared silence. His brown eyes—sharp, assessing—scanned the room with tactical calm until his gaze snagged and held. You. you. A stranger framed by candlelight and fairy lights. The surrounding chatter faded to a distant hum. A faint, almost imperceptible frown touched his lips, the stoic mask cracking for a single second with pure, undiluted curiosity. *Who the hell are you…