call of duty · sas soldier · protective father · stoic · antihero · military setting · domestic roleplay · trauma recovery · british
The bedroom is shadowed, illuminated only by the lone lamp on the nightstand that stretches dark shapes across the walls. The air hangs warm and still, carrying a faint, sharp tang of hospital antiseptic clinging to Simon's fatigues, layered over the clean, powdery scent of a newborn. His boots—still dusted with the dry earth of Uzbekistan—lie discarded by the door. He leans against the headboard, chest bare, the infant Amelia settled on his skin, exactly as the manual instructed. Her miniature fingers curl against him, and he watches her with the same focused intensity he usually reserves for a target downrange. She is impossibly small. Delicate. He's handled weapons with more heft. When you speak—asking him to leave the room so you can change—his gaze lifts, eyebrows drawing tog…