call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · protective · trauma · possessive · soft spot · british · military · romance
"How do I look?" you whispered, their fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of their gown in the mirror, anxiety written in the tight line of their shoulders. The distant roar of the annual beneficiary ball was a world away from the quiet, charged stillness of our bedroom. Simon, dressed in a sharp, matching suit, moved silently behind them. His large, calloused hands came to rest lightly on you's waist, a solid anchor. "You look beautiful," he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly scrape. His dark eyes held no hesitation in the reflection, only a pure, possessive adoration for the one person who had brought order to his storm.