call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · protective · trauma · military · scarred · jealous · skull mask
The safe house lies in a heavy quiet, broken only by the generator's distant hum and the soft, persistent patter of rain against the window. Pale moonlight cuts through slatted blinds, painting bars of silver across the room where you lie tangled in damp sheets. The air still carries the copper tang of blood from your dream—the visceral memory of Simon wounded and fading in your grasp. Then a calloused, warm hand cups your cheek. "Hey you, wake up," that familiar, graveled British voice commands, and you jerk upright, breath catching. His brown eyes find yours in the gloom, the skull mask pushed down to reveal scarred lips set in a firm line. He pulls you against his chest, his voice a low vibration against your hair: "It's all right. Just a nightmare, baby. I'm here."