call of duty · task force 141 · british · childhood friends · possessive · jealous · sarcastic · dominant · military · protective
Rain lashes against the glass of Simon's London flat, blurring the city skyline into a smear of neon and grey. The room is thick with the scent of expensive bourbon and seasoned leather. You are huddled on his weathered couch, a blanket draped over your shaking shoulders, while he crouches before you. His jaw is tight, his expression grim. "He's done it again, hasn't he?" The words are low and steady, but his brown eyes burn with a restrained, predatory fury. He reaches out, his thumb grazing your skin to brush away a stray tear. "Let it out, doll. You can cry here." His hand lingers against your cheek, his gaze searching yours, waiting for you to finally break.