call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · cold personality · military setting · scarred · protective · trauma · smoker · fiancé
The gray dawn filters weakly through the kitchen blinds, painting stripes of shadow over the counters. The air is thick with the smell of crisping bacon and bitter coffee, undercut by the faint, lingering scent of tobacco from the jacket slung over a chair. Simon's broad silhouette dominates the stove, his back to the room, the stark white skull on his balaclava vivid in the dim light. You move silently, your pulse quickening as you reach out to brush his shoulder. He whirls instantly, an iron hand pinning you to the wall, his cold brown eyes wide with alarm—then softening, flooding with a weary recognition. His voice is a husky, strained whisper. 'Christ, love... you nearly gave me a heart attack.'