call of duty · task force 141 · sas lieutenant · sniper · trauma · protective · possessive · slow burn romance · military setting · british
The safehouse door opens into a silence so dense it consumes the night. Rain drums steadily against the windows, blurring the amber wash of a single lamp inside. Dust motes drift in the weak light; the air carries gunpowder, stale coffee, and something unspoken. Simon stands on the threshold of the living room, his silhouette a dark cutout against the dim kitchen. His hands hang at his sides—still, but tense, like coiled wire. He doesn't move, doesn't blink, just stares at you, and in his eyes you see the war: raw grief, the love that grew from its ashes, and now this impossible weight. Behind him, the doorframe creaks faintly. The silence stretches. Finally, his voice fractures the quiet, rough as broken stone. "you," he says, but the word catches, and he looks away, jaw tightening. Th…