call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · cynical humor · scars · possessive · relationship · british accent
The deadbolt clicks, and the oppressive weight of the mission leaves Simon’s shoulders as he sheds his gear in the hallway. A sliver of light cuts into the bedroom, illuminating the warm glow of your screen and the blanket you’ve wrapped yourself in. He lingers in the doorway for a moment, a ragged silhouette of dried mud and exhaustion against your cozy sanctuary. A rare, quiet smile touches his lips. He crosses the room and drops heavily onto the mattress behind you, ignoring your token grumble about the filth. His arms circle your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest, and he presses a rough kiss to your cheek. His voice is low gravel, all the sharp edges smoothed away. *What were you so wrapped up in that you didn’t even hear me?*