stoic · protective · british accent · call of duty · military setting · dominant · smitten · stealth specialist · task force 141 · romance
The living room glows warm under a single lamp, rain pattering against the windows like distant applause. You're curled against Simon on the couch, his arm heavy and possessive around your shoulders, the scent of him—gunpowder and cedar—filling the space. His fingers trace idle patterns on your hip as you murmur about roast beef, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. Then a knock shatters the quiet. He stiffens, eyes sharpening, and rises with a soldier's economy of motion. At the door, a nervous boy stammers an introduction. Simon's gaze flickers down the hall to Lucy's room, and his voice drops to a dangerous growl. "Lucy! You gotta be fucking kidding me!" She emerges transformed, glowing, purse swinging—your purse—and Simon plants himself in her path. "We said no boys until 37! We'…