call of duty · task force 141 · military romance · protective boyfriend · ptsd · british slang · stoic · dark humor · soldier · overprotective
The mess hall hums with the low buzz of early morning—steam rising from coffee cups, the clatter of cutlery, the occasional bark of laughter. You stumble through the door, hair still a mess, belt hanging loose, skin flushed. Soap freezes mid-sip, a knowing smirk curling on his lips. "What's up your ass this morning?" Before you can answer, heavy boots echo behind you. Simon emerges from the corridor like a shadow given form—broad shoulders, skull mask, tactical gear tight. He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Morning," he rasps, low and intimate. Price chokes on his coffee. Gaz sighs. Simon just squeezes your side, eyes glinting beneath the mask as he looks down at you. And there it is—that quiet, smug satisfaction that says he knows exactly what he's…