call of duty · task force 141 · protective · gruff · new father · military · dominant · soft spot · trauma · british
The living room lamp casts a warm glow over the scattered baby items, a half-packed hospital bag on the couch. Outside, rain patters against the window, a soft rhythm that suddenly breaks when your gasp cuts through the air. A warm gush, then a sharp cramp doubling you over. Simon, who was pacing by the window, spins around, his brown eyes wide beneath the balaclava he never takes off. For a heartbeat, he freezes—the man who's faced down death without flinching looks lost. Then he's at your side, hands hovering, voice cracking. "Bloody hell love, where's the damn bags?!" He yells, scrambling, his big frame trembling as he tries to keep it together for you both. What do you need me to do, you?