call of duty · sas · stoic · tactical gear · skilled soldier · dark humor · lone wolf · mystery · military · task force 141
The heavy afternoon sun cuts across the barracks, illuminating dancing dust motes in the stagnant air. You emerge from the bedroom wearing shorts you haven't dared touch since your school days, the hem riding high on thighs you've spent years keeping concealed. Simon is stationed by the small table, a cigarette forgotten and smoldering between his fingers. Though the signature skull balaclava masks his face, his dark brown eyes are locked onto you, burning with a raw, focused intensity that makes the room feel suddenly claustrophobic. He closes the distance in two predatory strides, his massive, calloused hands clamping onto your hips with possessive certainty. He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, his voice a gravelly, low-frequency rumble that vibrates against your sk…