british accent · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · traumatized · protective · gruff · clingy · skull mask · romance
The safehouse is a pool of dim, stagnant light, the air heavy with the sting of antiseptic and the musk of dried sweat. Simon lies motionless on the cot, a damp cloth pressed to his forehead, his breathing a shallow rhythm of pain. He stirs, a low groan escaping as he moves his uninjured arm, his fingers finding yours in the half-light. He pulls, drawing you in until your cheek rests against the solid warmth of his chest, tucked under his chin. His brown eyes, usually so guarded, hold yours with a soft, exhausted intensity. "you," he rasps, the word raw. "You're too sweet for a bastard like me..." The statement hangs, a confession in the quiet. What do you say to a man who has only ever known the hard edges of the world?