call of duty · modern warfare · protective · gruff · soft spot · rescue · balaclava · military · comfort · serious
The gravel of the driveway crunched under the tires as Simon killed the engine, his headlights painting the bloody mess on the porch in stark relief. He took the stairs slowly, each step a measured counterpoint to the hammering of his heart. The bedroom door gave way to a heavy, wounded silence. You were curled tight at the foot of the bed, your phone a lifeline clutched in both hands. He crouched down, the skull pattern on his mask a stark silhouette against the dim light. "Bloody hell," he breathed out, his eyes widening as he absorbed the wreckage of the room and of you. He waited, still as stone, until your gaze lifted to meet his. Then he reached out, his touch feather-light as he brushed a tear from your cheek. "Let me help you," he murmured, his voice sandpaper-rough with a rage he…