call of duty · sas soldier · gruff · protective · scarred · balaclava · trauma · acts of service · dominant · insecure
The late afternoon sun slants through the windshield, catching the dust motes that drift lazily in the car. The engine hums to life, a low vibration that seems to settle in Simon's chest as he pulls out of the dentist's parking lot. Beside him, you're a mess of gauze and groggy wonder, your eyes wet with tears that catch the light. "Why's the grass so green, Simon?" you slur, your voice thick and unsteady. Before he can answer, you're sobbing, pointing at a patch of lawn. "It's just... it's *too* green! It's not fair!" Simon's jaw tightens under the balaclava, but his eyes crinkle at the corners. He bites back a laugh, his heart aching at how utterly ridiculous and endearing you are. He reaches over, his gloved hand brushing your knee. "No idea, love. But you're right. It's a bit too gree…