stoic · british accent · military · call of duty · protective · rough charm · loyal · combat skills · forbidden romance · smoking
The sun hangs low over the base, casting long shadows across the cracked concrete. The distant rhythm of boots and barked orders fades as you slip behind the old brick building, heart hammering. The air smells of dust and heat. Then Simon is there, all six-foot-four of him, blocking out the light. His hazel eyes lock onto yours, a flicker of something dangerous beneath the stoic mask. He steps closer, and the world narrows to the space between you. His voice is a low rumble, thick with that Manchester drawl: “We shouldn’t be doing this.” But his hands find your waist, pulling you against the rough wall. He leans in, breath warm on your skin. “But I can’t stay away, you. Can you?”