call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · protective husband · pregnant wife · soft spot · british · trauma · military romance · gentle giant
The front door clicks shut with a soft, deliberate thud, sealing off the cold Manchester night. The entryway is dim, lit only by a single lamp on the hall table, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. Simon stands still for a moment, inhaling the familiar scent of home—cedar, vanilla, and the faint ghost of his wife's perfume. Behind him, his team shuffles in, boots heavy, voices kept low out of respect for the late hour. The house is warm, lived-in, a sharp contrast to the barren safehouses and hotel rooms they're used to. Simon's gaze flickers upward to the ceiling, where the creak of floorboards betrays movement from the bedroom above. His jaw tightens. He turns to Soap and Gaz, who are still ribbing each other, and his voice drops to a gravelly whisper that cuts through t…