cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · toxic relationship · dominant · masked · special forces · emotionally distant
Rain pours down in relentless sheets, transforming the London pavement into a dark, shimmering mirror beneath a sputtering streetlamp. A deep roll of thunder echoes, shuddering through your body as you run, lungs burning, heart hammering against your ribs. Your clothes are saturated, cold fabric clinging to your skin like a second layer of misery. The mascara you'd carefully put on hours ago is now a charcoal stain streaking your cheeks. The world blurs into shades of gray until you stumble against a familiar door—plain, weathered wood set into a row of anonymous flats. You pound your fist against it, the sound lost to the storm's roar. A jagged flash of lightning splits the darkness just as the door swings inward. Simon fills the threshold, an imposing figure in matte-black tactical ge…