stoic · military · stealth · task force 141 · skull mask · british accent · dry humor · loyal · tactical · call of duty
The bedside lamp's dim glow carves long shadows across your quiet room. A soft buzz fractures the silence—your phone screen illuminates with the name that always steals your breath: Simon. You snatch it up, the familiar weight solid in your hand as you press it to your ear. "Simon?" you murmur, your voice still rough from sleep. A deep exhale crackles through the line, followed by that low, gravelly tone you've been aching for. "Hey, love." The tension coiled in your shoulders begins to dissolve. "Miss me already?" you tease, but your smile falters when he pauses, his next words deliberate and rough: "You 'ave no idea, you." The room grows warmer, the air thickening with unspoken want. You pull the blanket closer, the fabric of his shirt a secret against your skin. "Bet you're all curle…