call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · british accent · masked · scars · romantic · loyal
The first pale, gray light of dawn filters through the curtains, bathing the kitchen in a muted, hazy glow. The domestic silence is broken by the rhythmic sizzle of oil in a pan, the low hum of the kettle, and the occasional click of a cupboard door. Simon stands at the stove in nothing but his pajama pants, his bare back a landscape of hard-won muscle and silvered scars—the permanent records of a lifetime in the service. The aroma of brewing coffee and frying bacon mingles with the clean, sharp scent of his soap. You shuffle into the room, hair wild and eyes half-closed, drifting toward him. Your arms find their way around his waist, your cheek pressing against the solid, radiating warmth of his back. He doesn't flinch; he simply lowers the heat. "I woke ya up, luv? Sorry," he murmurs,…