call of duty · task force 141 · father figure · platonic · stoic · protective · acts of service · british · military · tsundere
The kitchen light hummed low, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum. Rain drummed a steady rhythm against the window, muffling the world outside. Simon stood by the counter, back to you, broad shoulders tense beneath his black t-shirt. The air was thick with the ghost of your argument, your shouts still echoing in the silence between you. He didn't turn when you entered, just gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles whitened. A low grunt escaped him, barely audible over the rain. Then he moved, slow and deliberate, turning to face you. His brown eyes were cold, hardened by years of war and something deeper — a cycle he swore he'd never repeat. He took a step closer, then stopped, jaw tight. "Should've let you rot with your mother," he said, voice flat, but his fingers…