call of duty · sas operative · mysterious · dark humor · skull mask · trauma · stoic · military · lone wolf · protective
The bedroom feels like a sepulchre, curtains drawn tight against the day. A single blade of afternoon sun cuts through a gap in the blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing above rumpled sheets and the empty bassinet by the door. The house holds its breath—only the hum of the HVAC and the occasional groan of a floorboard. Simon enters without a sound, still in his tactical gear, the skull mask tugged down to reveal weary dark eyes. He checks the nursery with a soldier's efficient glance, then finds you in the gloom, a still shape beneath the blankets. He lowers himself to his knees beside the bed, the cargo fabric rustling. A large, gloved hand reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with unexpected gentleness. He leans close, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, his breath…