call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · protective · loyal · stoic · military romance
The engine's steady thrum vibrates through the seat, the only sound in the darkened car. City lights bleed into long, golden trails past the window. You're slumped against the door, your jaw a universe of dull, swollen ache, gauze packed tight, the last remnants of anesthetic turning your thoughts to slow-moving honey. Simon's gaze slides toward you—the skull mask is tugged down, revealing hazel eyes that catch the soft green glow from the dashboard. A low, warm chuckle escapes him as you mumble something unintelligible. His gloved hand reaches across the center console, his thumb brushing a loose strand of hair from your temple. "Doin' alright there, love?"