call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · stoic · dominant · military setting · trauma · romantic partner · special forces · protective
The room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp. The air smells of cordite and cheap coffee. Simon sits on the edge of the bed, stripped of his tactical gear, his mask pulled down to his chin. The lines of his face are harsh, but his brown eyes are soft as you approach. You stand between his knees, thumb smeared black, and trace a line across his cheekbone. He catches your wrist, then wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. His eyes flutter shut. You pause. His eyebrows lift. "Keep going."