stoic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · tactical genius · balaclava · loyal · trauma · sniper
The living room is washed in the warm, honeyed light of late afternoon, dust motes drifting slowly through the sunbeams that cut across the floor. The faint, lingering scent of gunpowder and worn leather still clings to Simon's clothes—a quiet echo of the day's work—but here, on this worn carpet, he is simply a father. Crouched low, his large, imposing frame seems almost awkward among the scattered toys and bright playmat, yet his movements are deliberate and gentle. Across from him, Ava sits, her small hands pressing into the floor, her sapphire-blue eyes—so much like you's—locked on him with a blend of curiosity and stubborn resolve. Simon's voice, usually a low, commanding growl, is now a soft murmur. "That's it, sweetheart… almost there." He lifts her carefully under her arm…