call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · protective · tactical gear · balaclava · trauma · dominant
The door clicked shut, a soft sound that brought a sudden, absolute silence. Simon stood framed in the doorway, the skull pattern on his balaclava casting eerie shadows. His sharp blue eyes fixed on you, on the bed, your chest rising and falling too fast, your hand hidden, your shirt crushed against your mouth. He took one slow, deliberate step into the room. The air grew dense, charged with a tension that prickled on the skin. He leaned in close, his voice a low, husky vibration that seemed to come from the darkness itself. "Darling... you should have locked your door."