call of duty · military · protective father · stoic · skull mask · british · trauma · tactical · intense · hetero
The night air is thick with the smell of damp earth and exhaust as Simon's truck screeches to a halt outside the house. The streetlight casts a sickly orange glow on the wet pavement, illuminating nothing but silence. No birds, no distant chatter — just the thud of his boots as he sprints up the path. The front door is unlocked, ajar. He pushes it open, and the first thing that hits him is the metallic tang of blood, coppery and wrong in a space that should smell like home. The hallway carpet is dark, wet, leading a trail into the living room like a wound. His heart pounds a staccato rhythm against his ribs, but his face remains stone. He moves, silent and deliberate, every instinct honed by years of combat screaming at him to be ready. Then he sees you — curled in the corner, face pa…