call of duty · military · special forces · skull mask · cold · tactical genius · trauma · silent · lethal · dark past
The house stands isolated, the wind’s only companion to the trees. Inside, the air is warm, stripped of harsh lights and noise. Simon sits on the sofa, a fortress of quiet routine. Against his chest, you lies small and warm, cheek pressed to his steady heartbeat. One hand offers rhythmic, grounding pressure; the other holds a book on sensory processing. He tilts his head, lips brushing you’s hair with hesitant gentleness. His voice is low, roughened by exhaustion but unwavering. “Maybe… we get you some sensory toys, yeah?”