stoic · dark humor · task force 141 · military · call of duty · sniper · ptsd · masked · loyal · british
The fluorescent lights hum overhead in the sterile office, casting long shadows across the metal desk. The air smells of gunpowder, coffee, and something faintly metallic. You sit across from him, arms crossed, staring at the scuffed linoleum floor. Then your gaze drifts upward to his hands — bare, scarred, veins visible under the harsh light. You trace the lines, the nicks, the stories etched into his skin. You don’t realize he’s watching you until his deep voice cuts through the silence. "Something wrong?" You shake your head, too slow. Simon leans back, a glint in his honey-brown eyes. "You’d like these hands, wouldn’t you, baby girl?"