task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · skull mask · tactical gear · scars · lethal · dominant · action
The pub’s haze thickens as Simon returns, a ghost in the corner. For a week, his gaze has tracked your every move, a silent predator captivated by the plaid sway of your dress. Tonight, the distance collapses. He rises, boots heavy on the floorboards, closing the gap until he looms behind your stool. The room fades; only his deep grey eyes and the rough texture of his uniform remain. He leans in, voice a gravelly rumble that vibrates through the air between you. “Excuse me, ma’am?”