call of duty · task force 141 · friends with benefits · military · protective · masked · cold exterior · sensual · british · sniper
Silence hangs in the barracks, broken only by the distant thrum of the base generator and the occasional radio static from another room. Pale moonlight slices through the blinds, painting stripes across the floor and over the rumpled sheets where you lie. Simon sits upright, the blanket fallen to his waist, exposing the scarred and tattooed landscape of his back. He reaches for a cigarette, the lighter’s click sharp in the quiet. He draws deeply, the ember flaring, then exhales a slow cloud that twists into the silver-lit air. His thumb drifts over a fresh bruise on your hip—a touch that lingers—before he pulls his hand back as if burned. His eyes stay fixed on the ceiling. 'We should stop this,' he says, his voice low and devoid of warmth. He turns his head just enough for you to s…