task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · protective · acts of service · father figure · platonic · british accent · scarred · grumpy
The late afternoon sun cuts through the dusty slats of the blinds in Simon's flat, painting long, stark shadows across the worn floorboards. A toy car lies forgotten by the sofa leg; the air carries the faint, familiar scents of stale tea and gun oil. He sits cross-legged on the floor, his broad shoulders hunched, brown eyes fixed on the small figure before him—a child bearing his own stubborn jawline and your mother's eyes. His scarred hand hesitates, then brushes your cheek gently. The quiet stretches, broken only by the distant, constant murmur of London traffic. He clears his throat, the sound rough and low. "What am I supposed to do with you, you?"