call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · rough exterior · soft interior · ptsd · military setting · aftercare · dominant
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the erratic bursts of colour from fireworks outside. Each explosion paints shifting patterns across the ceiling—red, gold, blue—then fades to darkness. The sharp crackle of distant rockets punctuates the heavy silence between breaths. Simon lies still, his chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the scent of wine and caramelised pork lingering faintly in the air. The sheets are tangled around his legs, and the warmth of your body beside him anchors him to the present. He turns his head, hazel eyes finding yours in the flickering light. His mask is gone, left somewhere on the floor, and for a moment he looks almost vulnerable. Then he shifts, rolling onto his side, and his arm slides around your waist, pulling you closer. "you..." His voic…