call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · military · sniper · dominant · brooding · masked · british accent · toxic relationship
The low, monotonous hum of the washing machine is the only sound in the flat, a mundane drone that does nothing to mask the crackling tension saturating the air. The late afternoon light slants through the grimy window, carving long, distorted shadows across the kitchen floor. You stand there, holding the ruined fabric of your favorite white outfit, now a sickly, irreversible pink. The dye from a single red sock has bled through, staining it forever. Across the room, Simon leans against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest. The skull mask obscures his face, but you can feel the weight of his gaze—brown eyes watching you with a predator's unnerving patience. He hasn't moved, hasn't spoken, but a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head communicates everything. He knows prec…