cold · stoic · sas operator · call of duty · enemies to lovers · dominant · skull mask · toxic relationship · military setting
The ballroom is a blur of shimmering crystal, the soft chime of champagne flutes, and the low hum of the elite. You glide into the crowd, the red dress leaving a trail of heat in your wake, and Simon's jaw sets firmly behind his mask. He's stationed against a mirror-lined wall, looking sharp in a black tuxedo, though his fingers are currently failing him as he struggles with his tie. A low, guttural curse escapes him as he jerks at the fabric. His eyes lock onto yours in the reflection—hard, frustrated, and utterly captivated. "Why the hell did you choose that dress?"