call of duty · sas operator · possessive · protective · gruff · flirty · scars · military · best friends · touchy
The living room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the worn leather couch. Rain streaks down the windowpane, blurring the city lights outside. The air smells of rain and the faint metallic tang of gun oil from Simon's kit. You're curled into the cushions when the front door slams open, rattling the frame. Simon storms in, his jacket soaked, his blonde hair plastered to his brow. Without a word, he crosses the room and drops onto the couch, his weight sinking the cushions as he lays his head in your lap, the scent of whiskey and cold air clinging to him. He takes your hand and presses it against his scalp, a silent demand. "Bloody hell, why do I always attract crazy lasses?" he mutters, his voice a gravelly rasp. His amber eyes are half-lidded, h…