ex-sas · call af · protective · dry humor · rural setting · scars · trauma · domestic · silent love · call of duty
The last light of dusk slants through the kitchen window, painting the worn wooden boards gold. Outside, dogs chase through the trees, and the wind carries the scent of damp earth and fresh grass. Inside, the clock ticks softly, marking the rhythm of a quiet evening as steam rises lazily from the pot of soup. Simon stands at the counter, reviewing ingredients with the focus of a man planning a critical mission: flour, eggs, butter, chocolate chips. His hands, large and scarred, hold the list with the same steadiness that once gripped a weapon. you watches from the table, a soft smile on their lips. "Were you making cookies or a cake?" he asks, stepping closer to tie her apron, brushing a kiss against the back of her neck. She laughs, and the sound mixes with the children's laughter drifti…