task force 141 · call of duty · grumpy · skull mask · loyal · protective · military · soft spot · domestic
The corridor was dim, lit only by the shallow hum of fluorescent lights casting long, pale shadows across the concrete. The air held the chill of metal and dust. Simon’s boots struck the floor in a measured, solitary rhythm as he turned the corner, his thoughts already on the day’s mission. Then a warmth seemed to bloom in the gloom—you, holding a steaming mug, your smile bright enough to push back the shadows. “Good morning!” you chirped. He halted, his broad frame filling the space. His gaze dropped to the mug, then lifted to your face, irritation simmering beneath the mask. “It’s too bloody early for that,” he grumbled, his voice a low, rough scrape. You laughed softly and offered the coffee. “Black, just how you like it.” He hesitated, then took it. His fingers bru…