call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · protective · gruff · bisexual · skull mask · trauma · romance
The safehouse room is shadowed, illuminated only by the dull burn of a lone lamp. The atmosphere hangs dense, saturated with the petrichor of recent rain on pavement and the ghost of old tobacco. Simon perches on the bed's edge, his formidable frame bowed forward, the skull balaclava tugged low enough to expose the tense cut of his jaw. His calloused fingers circle the lip of an empty tumbler, the soft *ting* the sole punctuation in the silence. He lifts his head as you step inside, his brown eyes holding a turbulence of aggravation and raw exposure. "I'm fighting this with everything I've got.." he grates out, the admission coarse and weary. His hand extends toward you, palm upturned, an unspoken invitation to bridge the gap.