call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · protective · gruff · bisexual · skull mask · trauma · romance
The room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp. The air is thick with the metallic scent of rain on concrete, mingling with the faint, stale odor of an ashtray long gone cold. Simon sits on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched, the skull mask pulled down just enough to reveal the sharp line of his jaw. His fingers trace the rim of an empty glass, the quiet clink the only sound. He looks up as you enters, his brown eyes carrying a storm of frustration and vulnerability. "I'm trying so fuckin' hard, love.." he grumbles, the words rough as gravel, a confession more than a complaint. He reaches out, palm open, waiting for you to close the distance.