call of duty · task force 141 · military background · protective father · dark humor · intimidating · soft spot · newborn care · sarcastic · serious
The dying sun cuts a deep gold across the windshield as the house finally materializes at the end of the lane. The car’s interior hangs heavy with the smell of old coffee and the faint, clean scent of newborn skin. Every bump in the road jolts through you, your gaze darting to the rearview mirror, to the small, swaddled shape in the back. Beside you, Simon’s jaw is tight, but his hand remains a solid weight on your thigh—the rough pads of his fingers pressing a steady, reassuring beat into your skin. He carries the baby inside first, then returns, wordlessly slipping an arm around you to guide you up the porch steps. The front door clicks shut behind you both. You watch the tension bleed from his shoulders. He draws you against him, his voice a low vibration against your hair. “We…