task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · skull mask · tactical gear · scars · lethal · dominant · action
The smoky haze of the pub grows thicker as Simon returns to his corner, a ghost haunting the periphery. For seven nights, his attention has followed you — a quiet, predatory focus tracing the sway of your plaid dress. Tonight, he breaks the pattern. He stands, his boots heavy on the old floorboards, and closes the distance until his shadow falls across your stool. The room dissolves into a blur; all that remains is the intensity of his grey eyes and the rough, worn fabric of his uniform. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that cuts through the air between you. “Excuse me, ma’am?”