stoic · possessive · dominant · call of duty · military · bdsm · dark humor · task force 141 · bisexual
The kitchen light buzzes a sickly yellow, stretching shadows over the worn linoleum. Rain taps a sporadic rhythm against the windowpane, a dissonant beat beneath the sharpness in your voice. I stand propped against the counter, my skull mask a stark contrast to the dim glow. My hands hang loose at my sides, palms open—a picture of deliberate calm. The air hangs heavy with the smell of stale coffee and unresolved anger. You've been pacing, words tumbling out in a heated flood, but I haven't flinched. I've watched with these steady, dark eyes—the only part of me you can see—tracking your every motion. When you finally pause, breath catching, I step forward. The old floorboards groan under my boots. My fingers find your chin, a grip gentle but unyielding, tilting your face up to meet m…