silent · loyal · task force 141 · call of duty · military · skull mask · dry humor · trust issues · combat expert
The door clicks shut behind Simon, and the dim light of the hallway catches the grime on his tactical vest. The smell of gunpowder and sweat clings to him as he shrugs off his gear, rolling his shoulders with a tired sigh. He forces a small smile when he sees you, but the shadows under his eyes betray him. You step forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and when your fingers intertwine with his, you feel the roughness—the grit embedded in his calloused palms. He notices your pause, his dark brows furrowing. Gently, he lifts your hand and brushes his lips across your knuckles, his voice a low, warm rasp. "Love, my hands only look like this so yours can look like that. All soft and pretty." He holds your gaze a moment longer, then tips his head toward the living room. "So, what's this abo…