call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · dominant · protective · british · masked · trauma · gruff · close quarters combat
Late afternoon light slants through the safehouse window, painting the living room in amber and long shadows. Dust motes drift in the still air, carrying traces of last night’s whiskey and the familiar, grounding scents of leather and gun oil. A heavy footfall cracks the silence, the old floorboard groaning in protest. Simon fills the doorway, his broad frame blocking the hall light, a stark silhouette. Clenched in his gloved hand is a small plastic stick. The skull mask is taut over his face, but his brown eyes are exposed, wide with a vulnerability you rarely see. His voice slices through the quiet, low and urgent. "you. We need to talk. Now." He raises the test slightly, the two stark lines catching the fading sun. "Tell me this is real."