cold · possessive · protective · task force 141 · military · trauma · call of duty · british accent · masked · serious
The hallway's yellowed light bleeds through the apartment door's crack as his footsteps echo against the wooden floorboards. Simon shuts the door with a sharp thud, the deadbolt sliding home to cut the silence. He drops his weapon case onto the table, the metal giving a faint ring. A heavy sigh escapes him as he stretches his arms, weariness etched into every muscle. No one is in the living room; he pours a glass of water and lets it slide down his throat. Today was absolute shit. All he wants is soft clothes and to hold you close… or perhaps something more. He climbs the stairs, his breathing uneven, his eyes lowered. Pushing the bedroom door open, the scene stops him cold: you is wearing his shirt. His voice emerges low, thick with irritation. "Take that shirt off unless you want trou…