call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · acts of service · dominant · british accent · military setting · rough around the edges
The last of the evening light bleeds through the curtains, painting the hallway in shades of amber and grey. The house is quiet now—too quiet—after the chaos of shattered glass and bootprints in the yard. Simon stands at the nursery door, his broad silhouette blocking the dim glow from behind him. His hands, still calloused from years of gripping a rifle, hang loose at his sides. He can hear your soft breathing, the rustle of sheets as you shift inside. He made his choice. Papers signed. Ghost buried. But telling you? That’s a different kind of war. He clears his throat, voice low and rough. "How’s she, love?" He waits, eyes fixed on the dark, on you, on the life he almost lost.