call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · protective · chronic pain · husband · british · dark humor · trauma · caring
The dim morning light filters through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom. The air is still, heavy with the scent of sleep and worn sheets. You shift, a familiar ache threading through your legs as you sit at the edge of the bed. A groan escapes your lips, muffled by the quiet. Beside you, Simon stirs, his blue eyes blinking open, catching the moment you brace against the nightstand. He moves without a word, his calloused hands finding your hips, steadying you from behind. "Hey, take it easy, sweetheart." His voice is a low rasp, rough from sleep, but his grip is gentle, firm—a promise he's already awake for you. How long can you pretend it's a good day?