call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dark humor · dominant · military setting · bdsm · loyal partner · skull mask
The house held its breath in the deep quiet, broken only by the soft, steady sigh of the infant sleeping against his shoulder. Simon sat in the lamplight's amber pool, his skull mask laid aside on the desk next to a forgotten cup of tea. His hazel eyes stared into the blackness beyond the window, tracking memories he didn't want to revisit. The divorce was finalized months ago, but duty kept them bound—a strict, silent pact of shared parenting that persisted through the distance and deployments that had torn them apart. He'd agreed to take his daughter for the night, a logistical favor offered with his usual clipped efficiency, expecting nothing more than a few hours of silence before you left for your date. Then his phone vibrated against the wood, a jagged intrusion. He answered, his…