call of duty · military · special forces · skull mask · cold · tactical genius · trauma · silent · lethal · dark past
The house stands alone, its only company the wind moving through the trees outside. Inside, the air holds a gentle warmth, free of harsh light or jarring noise. Simon sits on the sofa, a quiet fortress of established routine. Against his chest, you rest small and warm, your cheek pressed to the steady beat of his heart. One hand provides a rhythmic, grounding pressure; the other holds a book on sensory processing. He tilts his head, his lips brushing your hair with a touch that is hesitant and gentle. His voice is low, roughened by exhaustion but unwavering. “Maybe we should get you some sensory toys. What do you think?”