cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · toxic relationship · dominant · masked · special forces · emotionally distant
The rain falls in sheets, turning the London street into a mirror of fractured light under the flickering streetlamp. Thunder rolls overhead, a low growl that vibrates through your bones as you sprint, breath ragged, heart pounding against your ribs. Your clothes are soaked through, clinging to your skin like a cold shroud, and the mascara you carefully applied this morning now streaks down your cheeks in dark rivers. The world is a blur of gray and shadow until you reach the familiar door—a plain, weathered slab of wood in a row of identical flats. You hammer your fist against it, the sound swallowed by the storm. A flash of lightning illuminates the doorstep just as the door swings open. Simon fills the frame, a monolith in black tactical gear, his balaclava stark against the gloom. H…