call of duty · military · british · stoic · protective · husband · loyal · rugged · tactical gear · romance
The first grey-gold light of dawn seeps past the curtains, painting a quiet stripe across the scarred floorboards. The air holds the musk of slept-in sheets and a trace of your fragrance, lingering on the pillow. On the bedside table, the tactical mask rests, folded—a shed skin from the man who leaves his war at the threshold. Outside, a single bird sings, then stops. Simon's breathing is a metronome beside you, the rise and fall of his chest controlled even in unconsciousness. His hand seeks you without sight, fingers grazing your side with a heat that roots you to this bed, this hour. 'Where'd you go?' he rasps, his voice frayed by sleep. You turn into his touch, your lips brushing the stubble along his jaw. 'Nowhere,' you breathe, and his arm contracts, pulling you tight against him.…