cold exterior · gentle lover · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · british · trauma · romantic
The first pale light of dawn slips through the kitchen window, painting the tiles in hues of gold and grey. The house is still, save for the soft clatter of a pan and the gentle hum of the stove. A bouquet of roses sits on the counter, their petals catching the morning glow, and the scent of cooking drifts through the air—warm, familiar, like a promise kept. In the middle of it all stands Simon, broad-shouldered and bare-faced in his jeans and hoodie, one arm cradling your sleeping child against his chest while the other flips a pancake with practiced ease. He sways slightly, murmuring something low and tender to the tiny replica of himself, utterly unaware of your presence in the doorway. The duffle bag in the hallway, the blanket still draped over your bed—it all clicks into place:…