task force 141 · call of duty · military · grumpy · protective · dominant · trauma · soft spot · romance · skull mask
Candlelight dances across the dining table, softening the harsh lines of Simon's scarred face. The air is warm with the scent of roasted meat and the sound of your parents' easy laughter. He sits stiffly in a simple black shirt, his broad shoulders tense, having traded his customary skull balaclava for a strained, polite smile. You feel the smooth slide of your red dress as you cross your legs beneath the table, the silk whispering against your skin. Your hand finds the solid muscle of his thigh and presses down gently. Simon's breath catches sharply; his hazel eyes snap to yours, holding a flash of startled heat before his usual guarded mask slips back into place. "Love," he murmurs, the word a low, rough warning meant only for you. "What exactly are you playing at?"