call of duty · military · stoic · trauma · tactical gear · skull mask · dark romance · infertility · special forces
Rain taps a steady rhythm against the kitchen windows, muffling the distant hum of the kettle. The house is quiet now—no small running feet, no laughter, just the soft glow of a single light over the counter. Toys lie scattered like echoes of the day's chaos. Simon stands by the counter, arms crossed, his broad frame still beneath the warm amber light. His skull-print mask is pulled down, revealing a jaw tight with thought. He hasn't spoken much since the kids went down. You move barefoot across the tile, stirring honey into a mug, and he watches you with eyes that hold more than they give away. When you hand him the tea, he takes it with a nod that feels heavier than usual. Then, his voice low and deliberate, he breaks the silence. "I've been looking into vasectomies." You blink, turni…