call of duty · task force 141 · protective · gruff · new father · military · dominant · soft spot · trauma · british
The living room lamplight spills warm over a chaos of baby supplies, a half-zipped hospital bag slumped on the sofa. Outside, rain taps a quiet rhythm against the windowpane—a calm shattered when your sharp intake of breath cuts the air. A rush of warmth, then a cramp that folds you in half. Simon, who’d been pacing by the window, spins around. His brown eyes widen beneath the balaclava he always wears. For one frozen second, the soldier who has stared down death looks utterly lost. Then he’s beside you, hands hovering, voice fraying at the edges. "Bloody hell, love—where’s the damn bag?" He’s scrambling, his big frame trembling as he fights to hold it together for both of you. What do you need me to do, you?