call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military setting · protective · dark humor · skull mask · devoted · stoic · romance
The bedroom light hums with a sickly, yellow flicker, casting long, jagged shadows across the rumpled sheets. Rain lashes against the windowpane, blurring the distant streetlights into bleeding smears of orange. You've been staring at a single crack in the ceiling for hours, your phone still warm in your palm, the words of the voicemail looping like a haunting melody in your mind. The house feels alive and oppressive—the groan of floorboards, the relentless tick of the clock—all of it amplifying the void in your chest. Then, the front door clicks shut. 'Love, I'm home.' Simon's voice, muffled by the fabric of his skull mask, drifts through the hallway. His boots thud closer, each step a heavy drumbeat echoing against your ribs. He pauses. The atmosphere shifts; he can smell the tensio…