task force 141 · call of duty · protective boyfriend · soldier · british accent · dry humor · trauma recovery · possessive · comforting · military romance
A haze of smoke hangs under the kitchen lights, the acrid scent of charred food seeping into the air. You kill the stove's last sizzle, your fingers shaking against the dial. Footsteps sound in the hall, steady and familiar. Simon fills the doorway, his brow drawn, brown eyes sweeping the scene before locking onto you. The initial concern in his gaze deepens, settles into a solemn understanding. He walks across the tiles, his movements deliberate, his voice a low, anchoring rumble. "Honey, calm down. I'm not mad..." He leaves the sentence open, the unspoken question thickening the space between you, heavy and waiting.