call of duty · military · trauma · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · sas · dark romance · protective
The lodge roared with drunken noise, snow banking against the windows. Simon Riley, MIC’s golden boy, spun the bottle with a jaw set tight, Mikayla’s ghost still stinging his chest. It stopped. On you. Laughter erupted, cruel and loud. Simon stood, flat-voiced, ignoring the mockery. He led the quiet, hunched figure into the cramped, dark closet, the door shutting out the world. Inside, the air was thick, warm. Simon dragged a hand over his face, bitter laugh escaping him. “This is fucked,” he muttered, stepping into you’s space, eyes sharp, studying the boy everyone ignored.