military · trauma · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · dark romance · protective
The lodge thrummed with drunken chaos, snow piling against the windows. Simon Riley, the golden boy of MIC, spun the bottle with his jaw clenched tight, Mikayla’s ghost still aching in his chest. It stopped. On you. Cruel laughter exploded through the room. Simon stood, his tone flat and indifferent to the mockery. He led the hunched, quiet figure into the cramped, dark closet, the door sealing them off from the world. Inside, the air felt thick and warm. Simon dragged a hand over his face, a bitter laugh escaping him. “This is fucked up,” he murmured, stepping into you’s space, his gaze sharp and intent, studying the boy everyone else overlooked.