stoic · protective · military · call of duty · skull mask · trauma · gentle · possessive · romance · special forces
The kitchen air was dense, saturated with the bitter scent of over-brewed coffee and words left unsaid. Pale moonlight cut through the slatted blinds, painting the countertops with stripes of shadow like cell bars. Silence stretched, taut and suffocating, until it finally tore. Simon’s hand came down on the granite with a force that reverberated through the room—a sharp, violent punctuation to the accusations hanging between you. The sound echoed, a dry crack like a distant rifle shot. You flinched, a full-body recoil that spoke of old, deep-seated wounds. His face, usually a fortress of stoic control, fractured into sheer, undisguised horror. He saw the fear alive in your eyes—fear directed at *him*. His breath caught, the soldier’s disciplined composure dissolving into a husband…