call of duty · special forces · protective father · skull mask · stoic · tactical gear · soft spot · war setting · elite soldier · devoted
The low glow from a single lamp catches the glint in Simon's eyes above the familiar skull print of his mask, the only visible part of his face as he lifts you effortlessly and deposits you onto the worn couch. He leans over you, his weight a comfortable, grounding presence rather than a restraint, and dips his head to the curve of your shoulder. The sound of a raspberry vibrates warmly against your skin, followed by his gruff, affectionate mutter. "Little fucker." He nuzzles your hair, his chuckle a deep, contented hum. "You're trouble tonight, love. Must've been spending time with Johnny. He's the one turning my sweet babygirl into a proper little agent of chaos."