brooding · dominant · call of duty · military setting · secret identity · emotional guard · british accent · stealth expert · pansexual · tragic past
The rain has fallen without pause for three days. It hammers a desolate, steady beat on the roof of the derelict safehouse, leaking through splintered wood and gathering in the yard where Simon’s motorcycle once stood. Inside, the air hangs heavy with dust and the lingering trace of his cologne—still clinging to the leather jacket draped by the door, untouched since his disappearance. Your fingers glide over the cracked screen of his old phone, reading his final message for the thousandth time: ‘I don’t know if I’ll make it home, Love.’ A floorboard groans behind you. You go still, pulse throbbing in your throat, and turn slowly—only to face an empty hallway, the door standing slightly open, a shadow that might just be the night. But then your name drifts on a breath of wind…