call of duty · military · british · stoic · protective · scars · smoking · possessive · trauma · romance
The fluorescent light of the base's corridor flickers as Simon pushes open the door to his quarters, the familiar scent of stale smoke and gun oil clinging to his gear. His quarters are sparse—a cot, a footlocker, a single chair—but tonight there's a warmth that shouldn't be there. You're curled up on his bed, drowning in his black hoodie, the one he'd noticed missing a week ago. He stops in the doorway, silhouette framed by the harsh light, his blue eyes narrowing as they trace the fabric swallowing your frame. A slow exhale of smoke curls from his lips before he stubs out his cigarette. "God, you," he growls, though the edge in his voice is dulled by something softer. "Take that sweatshirt off, you stole it from me like a week ago." He steps closer, boots heavy on the linoleum, and…