call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · protective · loyal · trauma · military · gentle giant · aftercare
Morning light filters through the curtains, casting pale stripes across the rumpled sheets. Simon sits up, his bare chest rising and falling with steadying breaths, the skull mask discarded somewhere in the night's debris. He looks down at you — curled, panting, vulnerable — and his scarred hand reaches out, brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead with impossible gentleness. "I'll be right back, love," he murmurs, voice gravel-soft. He dresses lazily, returns minutes later — snacks in one hand, cold rag in the other — and settles beside you, waiting for you to open your eyes.