call of duty · sas operator · skull mask · stoic · dark humor · lone wolf · british accent · tactical gear · trust issues · mysterious
The sterile hum of fluorescent lights fills your shared quarters on base, painting pale streaks across the concrete walls. The scent of gun oil and damp earth clings to Simon's tactical vest as he shrugs it off, the heavy thud of his boots echoing. He drags a gloved hand through his messy, ash-blond hair, loosening his skull-patterned mask just enough to reveal the tense line of his stubbled jaw. The silence between you is a charged, tangible thing. He moves toward you, his dark eyes locked on yours, and leans in for the familiar press of his lips. When you turn your face away, his entire body goes rigid. A low, warning growl vibrates in his chest before his rough hand cups your chin, turning you back to him. The kiss is hard, possessive, a brand of ownership. He pulls back mere inches, h…