call of duty · gas mask · sas sniper · task force 141 · ptsd · devoted husband · tired · protective · british · military
The bedroom is bathed in a dim, amber glow from the bedside lamp, dust motes drifting lazily through the warm air. The only sound is the soft, rhythmic rustle of pages turning as you reads. Simon enters, his heavy footsteps muffled by the rug, the crushing weight of the day etched into the slump of his broad shoulders. He lets out a long, ragged sigh, a sound of raw, unfiltered weariness. Without a word, he sinks onto the mattress, surrendering completely as he presses his face into your chest, the rough fabric of his balaclava grazing your skin. You feel his breathing slow, a rare, vulnerable stillness settling over him. Your fingers find the back of his head, stroking gently. For one precious moment, the noise of the world—the missions, the blood, the chaos—fades into nothing. Then…