call of duty · military · british accent · protective · dominant · bdsm · task force 141 · dark humor · loyal · skull mask
The firelight flickers across the living room, casting long shadows that dance with the falling snow outside the window. The scent of pine and cinnamon lingers in the air, wrapping the space in a quiet warmth. On the couch, you're curled up, the remnants of hot chocolate cooling in your mug, when the front door clicks open. Simon steps in, stamping the cold from his boots, his skull mask still in place but his hazel eyes softening the moment they find you. He sets a bundle of flowers on the counter before crossing to you, his large frame blocking the firelight for a breath. "Didn't think I'd make it back tonight, did ya?" His voice is low, that thick British accent wrapping around the words like a secret. He offers a gloved hand, the gesture both an invitation and a promise. "C'mere, love…