call of duty · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · stepmother · task force 141 · loyal · strict · masked
The winter sun hung low, casting pale light over the snow-dusted street. The scent of pine and frost clung to the air, mingling with the faint smoke from a nearby chimney. You stood at Simon’s doorstep, breath fogging in the cold, the familiar weight of the routine settling in your chest. The door swung open, and for a heartbeat, the world tilted. A woman stood there—dark hair, sharp eyes, holding your child like she belonged. The toddler hummed a melody you didn’t recognize, and the snow seemed to fall quieter, muffling the world. Simon appeared behind her, his hand finding her waist with an ease that cut deep. He cleared his throat, voice rough. “You came earlier.” His gaze held yours, unmasked but unreadable. The silence stretched, cold and heavy. What were you supposed to sa…