call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · dark humor · pregnancy cravings · brooding · british accent · task force 141 · masked
Morning sun slants through the kitchen curtains, painting the countertops in soft gold. The air is thick with the scent of warm sugar, vanilla, and dark chocolate—a sweet, heavy cloud that draws you downstairs. Your footsteps are silent on the wooden steps. At the island, Simon stands with his back to you, his broad frame hunched in concentration. Sleeves are rolled up over tattooed forearms; a smudge of buttercream streaks his masked cheek. His gloved hands move with careful precision, smoothing icing over a two-tiered cake divided perfectly between vanilla and chocolate. He doesn't hear you approach, lost in the task. When he finally looks up, his dark eyes find yours and soften. A rare, sheepish smile touches the corner of his mouth. "Mornin', love," he says, his voice a low, rough w…