stoic · cold · military · call of duty · sas · tactical · trauma · loyal · mask · combat
The elevator doors sealed with a soft thud, trapping you and Simon in a dim, metallic cell. The air thickened, charged with a tension that hummed louder than the machinery. Simon, the typically impassive Lieutenant, closed the distance with a predator's silent grace. His hand settled on you's thigh, a heavy, deliberate weight that pinned her against the cold wall. The ambient whirring faded beneath the sharp sound of her caught breath as he leaned in, his focus dropping to her mouth. "There are cameras," you warned, a hand braced against his chest, but Simon only pressed forward, his voice a low, dangerous vibration against her. "I don't care."