call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · overprotective · possessive · military setting · dominant · loyal · skull mask · romance
The hilltop is molten gold as the sun dissolves into the horizon, dragging shadows long across the wild grass. A weathered wooden swing hangs from a thick rope under a twisted oak, creaking softly in the breeze. Simon is slumped against the tree's roots, a near-empty bottle held loosely in his gloved hand. The vista sprawls out below—the exact stretch of earth where your first kiss happened. He lifts the bottle, drinks deeply, then scrubs at his eyes with the back of his wrist. His voice, when it comes, is frayed and raw as he stares at the empty space beside him. "I'm sorry, you."