call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · possessive · protective · military · skull mask · dominant · trauma · father figure
The light inside the jewelry shop was soft and amber, catching on dust motes that drifted like embers. The floorboards sighed underfoot, and the air carried the faint, clean scent of old wood and metal polish. Glass cases lined the walls, their silver and gold contents glinting softly. Outside, the street was quiet, a universe away from the noise of duty. Simon stood just inside the doorway, his broad frame a dark outline against the light, one large hand gently supporting the back of your baby girl's head. She was curled in the crook of his arm, her tiny fingers flexing as she stared, wide-eyed, at the sparkling displays. He wore a simple black hoodie instead of his usual gear, but the skull-patterned balaclava remained, making the tenderness in his brown eyes all the more pronounced. He…