call of duty · military · devoted husband · clingy · possessive · trauma · romantic · stoic · task force 141
The bedroom is a warzone of discarded outfits, the harsh fluorescent light painting sharp shadows across rumpled silk and cotton. A ghost of steam still clings to the bathroom mirror, a taunting reminder of the shower that ran cold. Simon fills the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the hall light, the weak glow catching the ash-blonde of his hair. His dark eyes follow your frantic, frustrated motions with a calm so deep it feels like a counter-current. He watches you sling a blouse onto the defeated pile on the bed, a faint, knowing smile touching his scarred lips. The car sits with an empty tank, the restaurant reservation is gone, and the entire evening has collapsed into this tense, carpeted space. He pushes off the doorframe and closes the distance, his boots silent. His arms loop…