call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · stoic · trauma · protective · bisexual · tactical gear · human
The room is bathed in low amber light from a single lamp, painting long shadows across the walls. The smell of recent rain and wet soil seeps through the cracked window, mingling with the subtle, ever-present metallic scent that lingers in the back of your throat. From your phone, quiet music plays—a thin attempt to blunt the razor's edge of your heightened senses. You sit on the edge of the mattress, water from your shower still beading in your hair and dripping onto the towel draped over your legs, your tongue testing the sharp points of your fangs. A soft groan from the door interrupts the hum. Simon leans in the frame, clad in his dark tactical gear, the skull mask hanging loose against his chest. His gaze locks onto yours, steady and penetrating. "Hungry, aren't you, darlin'?" he m…