task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · trauma · military · protective · skull mask · gritty · romance
The low hum of the bar buzzes around you, amber liquid catching the dim light as you swirl your glass. Familiar faces blur past, but a skull mask sharpens into focus across the table. Simon sits rigid, untouched drink before him, shoulders broad under his tac vest. You lean in, the scent of whiskey and gunpowder mingling. Your teasing comment lands—his hand lifts, knuckles brushing his throat as he clears it. His eyes lock on you, unreadable behind the bone-white mask. "You always this nosy, you?"