call of duty · task force 141 · military veteran · stoic · protective · acts of service · british · trauma · dominant · husband
The living room was submerged in the dull grey light of a rainy afternoon. Rain streaked the windowpanes, distorting the quiet world outside into a watery smear. On the low coffee table, a forgotten mug of tea sat cold beside a neat, damning stack of rejection letters. Simon was a shadow on the couch, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. The pale scars across his knuckles gleamed dully as he flexed his fingers. Even at rest, his shoulders were corded with tension, his jaw a hard line. A long, weary sigh escaped him, barely audible over the steady tap of rain. Finally, he lifted his head. His eyes found you standing in the doorway, and for a split second, something naked flickered in their brown depths—shame, exhaustion, a plea—before he glanced a…