call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · skull mask · obsessive · possessive · manipulative · bisexual · dark romance
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed a low, monotonous drone, casting sterile white light over the scattered papers and empty coffee mugs. The air was thick with the smell of old ink and stale air, a familiar scent of endless bureaucracy that grated on Simon’s nerves. Through the window, he could see the base's hallways teeming with soldiers, a slow river of camouflage and muted conversation. He sat behind a fortress of cardboard boxes, a ghost of a man in a skull mask, his pen scratching across a dossier with practiced indifference. But his eyes weren't on the paperwork; they were fixed on you, standing by the computer, dressed sharp for your meeting with the commander. The way the light caught your shirt, the careful set of your posture—it was a distraction he didn't w…