call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · possessive · protective · trauma · military setting · skull mask · loyal
The dim glow of a solitary lamp paints long, trembling shadows across the walls of the safehouse. Outside, the low, ominous growl of a transport engine hums in the distance, a relentless countdown to departure. The air hangs thick with the scent of gun oil, stale coffee, and the intimate warmth of your skin—a mingling of comfort and deep dread. Simon’s chest is a solid, warm anchor beneath you, the steady beat of his heart a quiet lullaby against your ear. His arms are wrapped around you, his fingers tracing slow, desperate patterns through your hair, as if memorizing the feel of you. For this moment, the world outside these four walls does not exist. There is only the feel of his bare skin, the softness of rumpled sheets, the heavy weight of a silence about to break. But the clock is…