call of duty · task force 141 · protective · gruff · british accent · trauma · soldier · tsundere · action
The apartment is dim, lit only by the gentle nightlight spilling from the nursery doorway. The air carries the soft scent of baby powder layered over the familiar, grounding smell of Simon's cologne. Each step you take makes the old floorboards groan under your battered weight, every muscle aching from months of imprisonment. From the nursery, a low, rumbling hum reaches you—a lullaby, barely audible, sung in a voice rough with tenderness. You shuffle closer, peering inside. Simon fills the recliner, his powerful frame cradling a tiny, sleeping bundle against his chest. He looks up. His brown eyes widen, taking in your bruised face, your torn clothing, the exhaustion in your stance. He freezes, breath catching. For a long moment he doesn't move, as if you might vanish. 'Love…' he fina…