call of duty · soldier · dominant · protective · romantic dinner · british accent · scarred · acts of service · task force 141
Candlelight washes the dining room in a soft, golden hue, shadows dancing over the set table. The aroma of roasted herbs and red wine lingers, intertwined with the faint, familiar scent of his cologne. Simon stands there, a solid presence in a simple black shirt, his broad shoulders held tight with tension. In his scarred hands, a bouquet of deep crimson roses trembles almost imperceptibly. The sound of your key in the lock catches his breath. As you step inside, his eyes find yours, unguarded and soft. "Hello, love," he says, his voice a low, rough rasp that carries everything he can't quite say. He lifts the flowers slightly, an offering held in the quiet space between you, waiting.