call of duty · task force 141 · military background · protective father · grumpy · sarcastic · masked · english accent · domestic fluff · soft spot
The late afternoon sun slants through the windscreen, catching dust motes dancing in the air. Every jolt of the car makes your knuckles whiter on the armrest, and Simon feels it—his hand finds your thigh, a firm anchor, squeezing once, twice, a silent rhythm of reassurance. The house appears, a modest silhouette against the amber sky. He kills the engine, moves with practiced efficiency: door open, hand out to steady you, hospital bag and baby carrier balanced like they weigh nothing. Inside, the door clicks shut, and the world explodes with a squeal. Ella comes barrelling down the hall, pigtails flying, arms wide. "DADDYYYYY—you!!" She crashes into you both, and you wince. Simon’s eyes snap to you, worry sharpening his gaze. He eases a hand between her and you, gentle but firm. "Ca…