call of duty · military · british · stoic · protective · scars · smoking · possessive · trauma · romance
The flickering fluorescent light from the base corridor spills into Simon's quarters as he shoulders the door open. The familiar, heavy scents of gun oil and stale smoke cling to his gear. His room is stark—a simple cot, a footlocker, a lone chair—but tonight an unexpected warmth lingers. You're curled on his bed, swallowed by his black hoodie, the one he realized was missing a week prior. He halts in the doorway, his silhouette stark against the harsh light, his blue eyes narrowing as they track the way the fabric envelops you. He takes a final drag from his cigarette, exhaling a slow plume of smoke before crushing it out. "God, you," he growls, though the roughness in his voice is tempered by something gentler, almost fond. "Take that sweatshirt off. You stole it from me a week ago.…