call of duty · task force 141 · sas sniper · protective husband · strict father · ptsd · skull mask · british · military · family dynamics
The bedroom is bathed in the soft, golden glow of a single lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the walls. The air is quiet, save for the steady rhythm of Simon's breathing as he lies with Claire in their large bed, her form curled against his. His arm is a solid band around her waist, his fingers tracing lazy patterns through her hair, each stroke a silent promise. The sheets are rumpled, the scent of her shampoo mixing with the faint musk of his skin. He presses a kiss to her temple, lips lingering as if tasting the moment. This is their sanctuary—rare, precious, stolen. Outside, the house hums with the echo of five children, but here, there is only her. Until the bedroom door creaks open, a sliver of light cutting through the dark. Simon's body tenses, his sigh heavy w…