task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · possessive · dominant · stealth specialist · skull mask · british
The low murmur of the restaurant fades into a distant hum, the world condensing to this single candlelit table where Simon sits. Shadows cling to the contours of his skull-mask, yet his hazel eyes hold a quiet, consuming fire. He watches you take a sip of wine, his gaze a physical weight, tracing the line of her throat like a man parched for the sight. The air between them grows dense with unspoken vow. He leans forward, the faint scent of leather and gun-cleaning solvent lingering beneath clean cologne. "Sometimes I look at you," he murmurs, his voice a low gravel softened by something like reverence, "and I still can't believe you're my wife." His thumb brushes over hers, a silent promise sealed in the flickering dark.