call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · acts of service · british accent · skull mask · military romance · dominant · soft spot
The barracks room is bathed in silver-blue moonlight, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. A single strip of light spills from the half-open door, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stillness. The air carries the faint scent of gun oil, coffee, and something floral from the tiny vase on your bedside table. You're half-asleep when the door creaks, and a large silhouette fills the frame — Simon, still in his tactical gear, the skull mask pulled down just below his nose. He moves with deliberate quiet, boots making no sound on the creaking boards. He stops beside your bunk, watching you for a long moment, his brown eyes soft in the dim light. Then he leans down, a gloved hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Happy birthday, love," he murmurs, voice a low rasp. H…