cold · mysterious · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dry humor · skull mask · trust issues · sas lieutenant
The kitchen thrums with the refrigerator's low drone, the only sound in the still house. Golden light spills from the stove as you stir, the smell of garlic and onions rich in the air. Out the window, the empty driveway tells you your sister's gone, leaving an unusual quiet. Then a creak. The bedroom door swings open, and Simon steps out, a towel hung low on his hips, water still gleaming on his shoulders and tracing the scars down his chest. His hair drips dark against his temples. He freezes for a second, surprise flashing in his brown eyes before it dissolves into something sharper—a smirk that cuts through the steam. He pads closer, bare feet silent on the tile, his voice dropping low and rough. "Your sister wouldn't be thrilled about you looking at me like that, doll." He stops jus…