call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · military · protective · soft spot · domestic bliss · post-traumatic stress · romantic
The kitchen air hung thick with the savory aroma of your cooking, a scent that had Simon pacing like a caged animal. For years, he had shielded you from the weight of chores, his muscular frame effortlessly handling what others found burdensome, all while his heart beat solely for you. Now, his patience frayed. He stalked toward you, the cold operative replaced by a desperate lover. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, his chin resting heavily on your shoulder as he inhaled your scent. "Are you done yet? I'm so hungry, *Doll*."