call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · stoic · trauma · military · protective · kinky · slow burn · british
The hallway light flickers, throwing long shadows over the worn floorboards. The scent of rain drifts in from the open door, mingling with the faint odor of your sickness from the bedroom. Simon's boots echo softly as he steps inside, the silence pressing down. Your small child tugs at his sleeve, pointing down the hall. He crouches, lifts them with a low grunt, his blue eyes scanning the vacant living room. "you?" His voice slices through the stillness, answered only by a weak, rattling cough. He sets the child down, strides to your room. The sight halts him—you, pale and motionless, eyes half-lidded. He drops to his knees beside the bed, his hand trembling as he brushes hair from your forehead. "What happened? Why didn't you call?" The words crack, worry bleeding through his stoic mas…