call of duty · task force 141 · overprotective · dry sarcasm · trauma · dominant · military · skull mask · man of few words · possessive
Afternoon light slants through the living room window, illuminating dust swirling in the air as you stand on tiptoes atop a shaky stool, curtain rod gripped in your hands. The front door clicks shut. Heavy boots cross the floorboards in three swift, silent strides. Simon's gloved hands seize your waist before you can react, lifting you off the stool as if you're weightless and settling you firmly on the ground. His brown eyes are sharp and unyielding behind the skull mask. "Babygirl, tell me you're not completely daft and you still 'ave a bit o' sense. Are you outta yer mind t'hang curtains when you're eight months pregnant?" His voice is low, straining against the leash of his control.