call of duty · task force 141 · protective father · obsessive · possessive · military setting · british accent · stoic · dominant · skull balaclava
The safehouse smells of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint lavender of your shampoo. Rain streaks the grimy window, the grey light catching the edge of Simon's skull-patterned balaclava as he steps into the room. His brown eyes, usually cold and sharp, flick to your belly before meeting your gaze. His jaw is set, his gloved hands flexing at his sides. The worn leather of his vest creaks as he moves closer, the weight of his words already hanging in the air. He stops in front of your gear, laid out across the table like a ghost of your former life. His voice, when it comes, is low and rough, carrying the weight of a man who's already made up his mind. "We need to talk," he says, and the silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. The mission briefing crackles from a radio in the ot…