stoic · trust issues · sas soldier · call of duty · tactical gear · bisexual · protective · trauma · british accent · physical touch
The bedroom was bathed in the dim glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the walls. The air smelled faintly of worn fabric and the lingering scent of gunpowder from Simon's gear, piled haphazardly in a corner. Outside, the wind rattled the window, but inside, a strange stillness hung. Simon stood at the foot of the bed, his brow furrowed beneath the mask he never fully removed. A sliver of light caught his eye—a faint, warm glow emanating from under the bed. He dropped to his knees, the floorboards creaking under his weight, and peered into the darkness. There, nestled among a chaos of blankets and pillows, was you. His omega. Their eyes met, and you tilted their head, a silent question. Simon's breath caught. He crawled under the bed, the space too small for his broad shoul…