call of duty · task force 141 · protective · possessive · dominant · british accent · military setting · skull mask · flirty · trauma survivor
The living room was bathed in the dim, warm light of a single floor lamp, the pale blue glow of the baby monitor cutting through the shadows on the coffee table. The air carried the gentle scents of baby powder and lavender, a lullaby humming softly from a speaker. Blankets were tossed haphazardly over the couch, a lineup of clean bottles stood at attention on the side table, and in the center of it all, Simon—your husband, the lieutenant of Task Force 141—was on his knees, locked in a stubborn, silent struggle with a plastic baby gate. His muscular shoulders were taut with focus, a scowl etched beneath his balaclava as his fingers wrestled with latches that refused to obey. "Bloody piece of shit," he muttered, the Manchester in his voice thickening the words. You sat a short distance…