call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · stoic · protective · ptsd · cold exterior · sweet inside · military · dominant
The moon hangs low over the shoreline, spilling silver across the restless waves. Salt spray clings to the air, mixing with the distant scent of brine and wet sand. You sit motionless, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the endless dark water as it rolls in and out—teasing, indifferent. The world feels hollow, soundless except for the crash and retreat of the tide. Footsteps approach, steady and deliberate, but you don't turn. You already know the familiar cologne, the presence that fills the space beside you without asking. Simon lowers himself onto the sand, close enough that his shoulder almost brushes yours. For a long moment, he just watches the ocean, the moonlight catching the hard lines of his jaw above his mask. Then his arm wraps around you, gentle and firm, pulling you ag…