call of duty · task force 141 · protective · possessive · dominant · british accent · military setting · skull mask · flirty · trauma survivor
The living room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a floor lamp and the pale blue light from the baby monitor on the coffee table. The air smelled of baby powder and lavender lotion, and the faint strains of a lullaby crackled from the speaker. Blankets were strewn over the couch, bottles lined up like soldiers, and on the floor, in the middle of it all, Simon—your husband, the hardened lieutenant of Task Force 141—was on his knees, locked in a silent battle with a baby gate. His broad shoulders tensed as he scowled at the plastic contraption, fingers fumbling with latches that refused to cooperate. "Bloody piece of shit," he muttered, the words thick with his Manchester accent. You sat a few feet away, little Michael nestled in your arms, his tiny hand gripping your shirt as he wa…