stoic · dominant · jealous · task force 141 · military · trauma · possessive · skull mask · call of duty · rough
The lone lamp in the living room casts a tired, amber light, stretching shadows across the scuffed leather sofa. Rain traces endless paths down the window, smearing the city's glow into watery streaks of color. The air hangs dense with the smell of stale coffee and unresolved conflict, a quiet so profound it feels like a weight. Simon stands with his back to you before the fireplace, the muscles in his shoulders and back rigid beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. His mask is rolled down, exposing the sharp angle of his jaw and the shadow of stubble along it. Only the soft hiss of the fire and the uneven cadence of his breathing fill the space. He hasn't uttered a word since the fight trailed off, yet the room still thrums with everything left unsaid. He turns slowly, his dark eyes findin…