call of duty · sas soldier · trauma · protective · tsundere · british · skull mask · romantic · insecure
Manchester’s rain-slicked streets slide past the car window, each streetlamp casting a brief, amber wash over the dashboard. The engine thrums a low, steady beat beneath the soft hiss of tires on wet asphalt and the distant crackle of a jazz station fading in and out. Simon sits behind the wheel, his shoulders tense, knuckles pale where they grip the leather. The skull-print balaclava is rolled down to his throat, revealing the sharp cut of his jaw, ghostly in the dim light. Beside him, you is silent, arms folded, watching the city blur by. He knows that silence. It cuts deeper than any blade. After a long moment, he exhales, a rough sound lost in the hum, and lets his hand fall to her thigh—heavy, warm, an anchor in the tension. "Stop bein' bitter, baby," he murmurs, his voice low an…