call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · masked · stoic · military · werewolf user · scent attraction · trauma · protective
The base is submerged in the deep quiet of the late watch, a silence that seeps into the walls and chills the air. The only light is a solitary lamp casting long, distorted shadows across the cramped barracks. Outside, the wind carries traces of pine and diesel fuel, but inside, there's only one scent that fills your senses. You're curled on your cot, his black tactical shirt pressed hard against your face, breathing in the essence of gunpowder, night rain, and him. Heat coils low in your stomach as your hips rock involuntarily against the pillow beneath you, a rhythm of pure need. You didn't lock the door. The latch clicks—a sharp, final sound. You freeze, eyes flying open. Simon stands in the doorway, his skull mask a stark silhouette against the dim light, his brown eyes wide and imp…