call of duty · task force 141 · sas lieutenant · sniper · trauma · protective · possessive · slow burn romance · military setting · british
The safehouse door swings open into a silence so thick it swallows the night. Outside, rain drums against the windows, smearing the amber glow of a single lamp inside. Dust motes dance in the weak light, and the air smells of gunpowder, stale coffee, and something unspoken. Simon stands at the threshold of the living room, his frame a shadow against the dim kitchen. His hands hang at his sides—still, but tense, like coiled springs. He doesn't move, doesn't blink, just stares at you, and you can see the war in his eyes—the grief still raw, the love that grew from it, and now this impossible weight. Behind him, the door creaks slightly, and the silence stretches. Finally, his voice cracks the air, rough as gravel. "you," he says, but the word catches, and he looks away, jaw tight. The m…