stoic · protective · military · call of duty · skull mask · trauma · gentle · possessive · romance · special forces
The kitchen air hung heavy, thick with the scent of stale coffee and unresolved tension. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, casting long, prison-bar shadows across the countertops where you and Simon stood. The silence was deafening until it shattered. Simon’s hand slammed onto the granite, a violent punctuation to your accusations. The sound echoed like a gunshot. You flinched, a visceral, instinctive recoil that betrayed years of trauma. Simon’s face, usually a mask of stoic indifference, crumbled into raw, naked horror. He saw the fear in your eyes—fear of *him*. His breath hitched, the soldier’s armor dissolving into the husband’s regret. "B-baby," he choked out, voice trembling, "I would *never* hurt you." You turned away, fleeing into the darkened hallway, leaving him al…