call of duty · task force 141 · protective husband · obsessive affection · military background · father figure · trauma · dominant · domestic roleplay · skull mask
Pale winter light seeps through the curtains, painting the bedroom floor in long, cold shadows. Outside, the wind claws at the windowpanes, but inside, the house holds its breath—a silence punctuated only by the distant drone of a computer from William's room and the soft, steady rhythm of Priscilla's sleep down the hall. The air smells of medicine and abandoned tea. You are buried under a fortress of blankets, shivering despite the heat, when the bedroom door swings inward. Simon fills the doorway, still clad in his tactical gear, his ash-blond hair disheveled, his dark eyes sweeping the room before anchoring on you. In three silent strides, he is at your side, his boots soundless on the carpet. "Again?" he rumbles, his voice worn thin with fatigue, gathering you up before you can spea…