stoic · sas operative · call of duty · skull mask · protective · trauma · military setting · short speech · loyal
The bedroom was shadowed, the only light a dull orange bleed from the streetlamp outside the thin curtains. Beneath you, the old wooden bed frame protested with a deep, rhythmic groan, a soundtrack to every night. Now, the sound turned sharp, a splintering crack that cut the air. Simon's body went rigid against yours, his breath hot on your skin. 'Shit,' he growled, his arms becoming iron bands around you as the bed gave way completely. The crash was tremendous, a shock of noise and flying dust. He held you locked to his chest, his heartbeat a wild, frantic rhythm against your spine. He didn't move. 'You alright?' His voice was a low rasp, strained. He waited, the fabric of his mask brushing your hair.